<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Taking Chances by ourwinko</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27040261">Taking Chances</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ourwinko/pseuds/ourwinko'>ourwinko</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>NCT (Band), WayV (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Death, Coincidence and Fate, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Forgiveness, M/M, Supernatural Elements</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 18:40:59</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>19,518</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27040261</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ourwinko/pseuds/ourwinko</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“I had a feeling that you’d be here.”</p><p>“Of course I’d be,” Yuta’s voice is bright and happy, as if he’s naturally predisposed to speak in major rather than in minor. “We’re a pair, the two of us.”</p><p>“I’m not so sure,” Sicheng replies. “You’re a tricky thing, Fate.”</p><p>“Fate isn’t so tricky as it is perfectly clear, Chance.” </p><p>Or:</p><p>In which Jaehyun is a lonely records-shop owner and Doyoung is a struggling musician. They find unlikely love through cruel tricks and by taking chances.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dong Si Cheng | WinWin/Nakamoto Yuta, Jung Yoonoh | Jaehyun/Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>132</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Taking Chances</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>i've been writing this for two months so I hope it was worth it lmao! this hasn't been beta'd so please excuse any errors &lt;3</p><p>you can listen to these playlists too!<br/>doyoung - <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3kSawlJh8u0SScWYSQZsPl?si=o8hi7GaeQxqvHjBbnnq9bA">eight o'five a.m.</a><br/>jaehyun - <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/12CjUzpSQLn2bgZ0ftR2bL?si=2UHL7wUMSR6ex4QIWoZyag">sunshine records</a></p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Coincidence.</p><p>Its meaning is indefinite — it’s unpredictable and takes whatever form is granted to it. It has many other names: chance, <em>accidents,</em> so on and so forth, but Sicheng doesn’t really mind what he’s called. </p><p>A coincidence is a ripple in the fabric of life. A tiny collision of the threads that bind us together.</p><p>For simplicity's sake, Sicheng would define coincidence as the occurrence of events that happen by accident, but seem to have some connection. Tiny little things isolated from each other, and yet when you look closer, you’ll find that they’re all connected by one thin, inconspicuous string. </p><p>Coincidence may be the sudden breaking of a jaded coffee machine, and walking by an appliance sale on your way to work. It can be the inconvenience of an untied shoelace setting you back just a few steps late as a drunk careens his car onto the pavement. </p><p>Every single day, Sicheng watches these coincidences occur. After all, he is coincidence itself. These are things so minor, details so minute, that they’re often brushed aside to the part of one’s memory that doesn’t so often see the light. But oh, how coincidences have shaped lives. How chances have saved them. </p><p>For Kim Doyoung, Sicheng decides, coincidence is an empty bus card and no spare change, and a single open store across the street. </p><p>“Shit,” Doyoung swears under his breath. He’s just gotten to the bus stop, and he spares a frantic look at his watch. <em>8:02 AM. </em>This is a problem because the bus he takes comes at exactly 8:05 every morning. His hands feel his pockets for coins, but all there is to find is the uneven fabric of his jeans. </p><p>In the corner of his vision, the bus lingers at the distant traffic light. </p><p>He swears again, a little louder this time, and it attracts a dirty look from an old lady sitting on a nearby bench. In his panic, his eyes land upon a records shop just across the street. Its lights are on, a sign hanging behind the glass of its windows reading ‘OPEN!’ in scratched, faded ink.</p><p>Doyoung hastily looks down both ends of the street before running to the other side, never minding the irate honking of morning-addled motorists. He runs inside the shop with little to no regard for the violent clanking of the age-rusted door, paying no heed to the disturbed rattling of the door chime. He darts past shelves of vinyl records and CDs, but he arrives at the register only to find that there’s no one there.</p><p>“Hello?” Doyoung calls, his voice unevened as he heavily breathes in the dust-laden air. Traces of sweat are already beginning to form on his forehead. </p><p>Soft footsteps pad up from behind him, followed by a warm voice that greets him ‘good morning’. Doyoung turns to find a handsome man his age walking up to him, a gentle smile on his lips. Doyoung’s eyes drift down to the nametag on the man’s chest. </p><p>
  <em>Jaehyun.</em>
</p><p>“Welcome to Sunshine Records. How can I help you?”</p><p>“Uh, <em>good morning</em>, I’m really sorry to just barge in here like this, but would you, by any chance, have some change? My bus card is empty. I must’ve forgotten to refill it, and I have no coins on me.” Doyoung watches as Jaehyun takes the bills from his hands and makes his way to the register, his fingers moving across the keys with practiced ease. “I swear this never happens, this is so embarrassing—“</p><p>He’s cut off by a warm chuckle.</p><p>“Relax,” Jaehyun’s eyes flash up towards Doyoung, the corners crinkled slightly by amusement. “I have change. The day has barely begun. You’re alright.”</p><p>Doyoung huffs, possessing half a mind to heed Jaehyun’s advice. “Right.” </p><p>He takes that opportunity to roam his eyes around the shop, among the once vibrant covers of records now dulled by the sands of time. A subtle scent of sandalwood undernotes the cool, dusty air. He finds pleasure in the song playing on the speakers, at a volume low enough that it could only stream effortlessly into one’s ears as if carried by a breeze. Doyoung finds that he’s humming the familiar tune without even realizing it. He feels Jaehyun’s eyes on him as he busies himself with the words of this song.</p><p>
  <em>Here comes the sun. And I say, it’s alright.</em>
</p><p>“I like this song,” Doyoung says mindlessly, extending his hand out to Jaehyun as the register clicks shut. </p><p>Jaehyun drops the coins in his hand, the cold and weighted metal contrasting the warm and light touch of Jaehyun’s fingers.  “The Beatles are a classic.”</p><p>Doyoung hums affirmatively. “Thank you, Jaehyun.”  </p><p>“It’s my pleasure to help out a change-less person in need,” Jaehyun says, and the smile on his face is meek and shy, but his eyes crinkle at the corner anyway. Then he adds, with a dash of uncertainty, “Feel free to drop by anytime.”</p><p>Doyoung hears the familiar creak and heave of the bus pulling up to the stop. He smiles back at Jaehyun, and it’s unsure and awkward, but it’s a smile anyway. Who doesn’t like a smile?  </p><p>While this all unfolds, Sicheng watches the interaction from behind a distant shelf. Ordinary people like Doyoung and Jaehyun can’t hear, see, or touch people like Sicheng, but even so, Sicheng doesn’t feel comfortable being in such close proximity to something that had nothing (and incidentally, everything) to do with him. So, he settles for the shelf, eyes scanning blankly over old records.</p><p>It’s a warm sight, Sicheng admits. The prospect of what comes next, what feelings will grow, it’s enough to make him feel giddy inside. If only for a little while, if only as the tiniest flicker of a flame. What’s exciting about it is that from coincidences stem the most unpredictable of things, and Sicheng has made this obscure web of possibilities his home. </p><p>When the chimes announce Doyoung’s exit from the shop, and when Jaehyun returns to organizing records shelf by shelf, a new voice enters the fray. </p><p>“Ah, meet-cutes. They’re always my favorite part.” </p><p>Sicheng’s gaze is drawn to the space beside him, now occupied by a Yuta whose face is lit up by a bright smile. Sicheng hums contemplatively.  “I had a feeling that you’d be here.”</p><p>“Of course I’d be,” Yuta’s voice is bright and happy, as if he’s naturally predisposed to speak in major rather than in minor. “We’re a pair, the two of us.”</p><p>“I’m not so sure,” Sicheng replies. “You’re a tricky thing, Fate.”</p><p>“Fate isn’t so tricky as it is perfectly clear.” Yuta breezes past him, extracting a record from a nearby shelf. He holds it up to Sicheng with a smile. </p><p>
  <em>So Excited!  </em>
</p><p>Sicheng raises a brow. “Pointer Sisters, 1982. That’s not something I expected from you.”</p><p>“Oh,” Yuta laughs, almost to himself, almost as if he has some little secret that only he can laugh about. “There’s a lot you won’t expect with fate. But that’s the thing. No matter how unexpected, no matter how unpredictable fate is, it’s all set in stone. Everything's meant to be. Aren’t you excited? I know you are, don’t even lie.”</p><p>
Something about how Yuta just took Sicheng in stride unsettled him, and yet he can’t help but feel warmed by his presence. For something charged with the darkest of tragedies, Fate himself seemed to glow like the sun.  </p><p>“Mayhaps,” Sicheng says tentatively. “It’s too early to know anything, though. Save your giddy musings for later.”</p><p>
Yuta’s light footsteps follow after Sicheng as the latter makes his way out of the shop.</p><p>“Later?” Yuta chirps from behind him, and even through the street noise Sicheng can hear the smile in his voice. “Now you’re just setting yourself up.”</p><p>“See you until then, Fate.” </p><p>And before Yuta could even blink, he’s left alone on the sidewalk. Almost as if chance hadn’t been there at all, but Yuta knew. Oh, Yuta knew that Chance is everywhere, and he need only wait for them to meet again. After all, it’s fate. Yuta would know.</p><p>-</p><p>The time is 8:04. Two weeks have passed since the ‘change situation’, as Doyoung calls it in his head.</p><p>
As Doyoung stands like a frigid stick on the sidewalk, he lets his mind wander over to thoughts of the records shop across the street. Come to think of it, the shop has been there since Doyoung moved into town. He remembers peering out his window and seeing that same storefront and the very same door and the very same sign, although the ink and paint and wood had not been so aged back then. He remembers seeing the same shelves within, not collecting dust as much as it did age. He never really paid attention to the shop, never saw the need to go inside. He doesn’t own a record player, for starters. What Doyoung didn’t expect though, is the owner. </p><p>Yes, the owner. Jaehyun, whose youth manifested in skin like porcelain and dark brown hair that was almost raven black. Doyoung couldn’t forget the way his eyes shone in the sunlight, not even if he tried. And that voice? Doyoung’s breath hitches. He speaks so gently, with the warmest cadence. </p><p>Jaehyun is the exact opposite of what Doyoung expected of a records shop owner.</p><p>Now, Doyoung stands at the bus stop, eyes delving into the shop at their own accord, in search of a head of brown hair and neat, ironed clothes and a gentle smile. On good days, Jaehyun would see Doyoung at the bus stop and wave, and on better days, Jaehyun would even smile, with <em>teeth,</em> and Doyoung may or may not feel something stir inside him. On average days though, much like this one, Doyoung would simply have to resort to catching glimpses of a muscled arm stacking records on higher shelves.</p><p>He snaps out of his little trance when the bus pulls up in front of him. He gets on with a sigh.</p><p>“We don’t have all day, young man,” crows the driver when Doyoung’s bus card fails him yet again. </p><p>After a slight struggle, he drops some coins in the basket, muttering a small, “Sorry, sir.”</p><p>He shuffles into an empty seat, avoiding the lingering stares of the people around him. He hugs his guitar case close to him. </p><p>The city streets unfurl from beyond the window, and the small buildings grow into towers that block out the sun. Doyoung lets his mind wander as the bright tune of a Billy Joel song blocks out all other noise. </p><p>Doyoung isn’t much. He hasn’t amounted to much.</p><p>He’s just a singer getting by as a performer at some bar, hoping someday that the unsung songs hiding in his diary will find the light of day. For now though, he dreams small. He dreams only of getting through to the next week, and if he’s being ambitious, he’ll hope that either by chance or by fate, he’ll get scouted at work. And who knows? Maybe he’ll make it big one day.</p><p>One day. </p><p>Until then, he’ll work. </p><p>Work, for Doyoung, is a bar-and-resto called <em>Neo 127. </em>It sits right at the edge of downtown, at the gray area where old residentials and newly gentrified streets meet, creating a blend of new and old that gives the streets a unique charm.</p><p>When Doyoung walks through the front door, he’s assaulted by pop music playing at an obnoxiously loud volume. It only gets worse as Doyoung makes it past the front desk and into the main seating area, the one that turns into a dance floor come sunset. Right now, it’s in a state of half-readiness, and in the middle of all the clutter, is the bar owner Doyoung has come to know and love.</p><p>Taeyong has his shirt sleeves rolled up, revealing arms cramped with tattoos. His hair has been parted down the middle, an outrageous color of neon green. The apron hanging from his neck was very artfully decorated with every color of the rainbow, and Doyoung doesn’t know which are drawings and which are stains. The cherry on top to all of this, Doyoung thinks, is Bad Romance playing in the background. </p><p>“It’s too early for Lady Gaga, Taeyong,” Doyoung says, watching as the other man sweeps the floor. Not much cleaning is being done at all, because Taeyong is more focused on dancing to every word than getting rid of the layer of dust on the floor. Taeyong turns down the music, although the damage to Doyoung’s hearing has already been done. </p><p>“It’s Lady Gaga, Doie,” he says, smiling as if he’s making perfect sense. “It’s never too early for Lady Gaga.”</p><p>Doyoung nods. “Of course you would say that. You’re pop trash.”</p><p>“And I’m damned proud of it.” Then, Taeyong fixes him with a questioning gaze, his eyes flashing briefly up to a clock on the far wall. </p><p>“You’re one minute later than usual. You’ve never done that. <em>Ever.</em> Being a rebel now, are you? Trying out being chaotic for once? I’d be surprised, after all you’re the one who arrives on the dot for everything. Even for parties—” a mocking snort “—I mean, <em>who does that?</em> Anyways,” Taeyong steps back, observes his work, and sees dust still scattered over the floor. He averts his eyes with a grimace and looks at Doyoung. “What happened?”</p><p>“Okay, first of all, I’m not being a rebel. Second, my life is chaotic enough as it is, I see no reason in actively pursuing something I already possess. Third, normal people, asshole, that’s who. And lastly,” Doyoung inhales. “My card’s out of balance. I spent a minute digging coins out of my pocket. Say, could you lend me one of your bus cards? So I’ll never be late again?”</p><p>Taeyong softens, laughing under his breath. “Being one minute behind is hardly tardiness. Go get it in the back, it should be in my bag. The smallest pocket.”</p><p>“Thanks, you’re the best.” Doyoung pushes himself off the table he was leaning on, managing to press a wet kiss to Taeyong’s cheek before he gets chased off by a broom handle. </p><p>As Doyoung fishes a bus card out of Taeyong’s bag, his eyes catch onto a set of crumpled papers that had been left out on a desk. Doyoung’s eyes widen at the first set of words he sees. </p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <strong>EVICTION NOTICE.</strong>
  </span>
</p><p>“Taeyong?” Doyoung calls, walking back into the hall. He holds the papers up to view. “You’re getting evicted in thirty days? When were you going to tell me about this?”</p><p>Taeyong’s eyes are wide now, and he freezes even as Paparazzi starts playing. </p><p>“As late as possible?” Taeyong says, sheepish. “I’ll still get to keep the apartment upstairs. It’s only the bar they’re evicting me from.” </p><p>Doyoung feels his eyebrows pinch together. “Not the point. You’ve been skipping on rent?”</p><p>Taeyong sighs.</p><p>“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we’re not exactly a hotspot, Doie. New customers rarely come by anymore, and all we have are our regulars. They’re not exactly a handful.” Taeyong settles down in the nearest chair, his hands clutching harder around the broom, seeking comfort where there is none. “It’s been hard for the bar. For me as well, since I’ve had to dip into my own money the last few times rent was due. At this point I could bleed my savings dry and we’d still be behind by at least a month.”</p><p>“Oh, Yongie.” Doyoung tries not to sound too pitiful, and he walks over to Taeyong to take his hand in his. “How can I help?” </p><p>Taeyong smiles, although it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “This isn’t your problem, and I don’t want it to be. I’ll handle it Doie, okay? I’m a tough cookie. I’ll pull through.”</p><p>-</p><p>Yuta believes in absolutes. </p><p>Nothing is ever half-assed or partial. The universe just doesn’t straddle the fence on most things. Of course, there’s Sicheng, who isn’t absolute but something similar, but Yuta’s still trying to figure that out. The point is, reality unfolds as fate dictates, and nothing gets more absolute than that.</p><p>At least, Yuta thinks so. </p><p>Yuta watches as the mailman drops a hefty package in front of Doyoung’s apartment door, nearly covering the entirety of the abhorrent <em>‘welcome home’ </em>mat on the ground. Yuta also watches as Doyoung opens the door, only to stare at the package for a good thirty seconds.  </p><p>Yuta doesn’t judge when people aren’t athletic, but watching Doyoung struggle with this package really is tempting him. He’d help the poor man if he could, but the thing about being fate itself is that you’re never tangible. To humans, at least. </p><p>When Doyoung manages to get the package in the living room, Yuta silently cheers for him. </p><p>“What the hell,” Doyoung whispers under his breath as he opens the package. He strides over to the telephone with heavy steps, dialing his mother’s number with forceful fingers. </p><p>Yuta makes himself comfortable on the couch.</p><p>“Hi, Mom. Yes, I’ve been eating well. No, I am not sick, I sound like this all the time—What? <em>No. </em>Taeyong and I are just friends. I <em>work </em>for him. Anyways, <em>Mom— </em>I got your package. Do I like it? I don’t even know what to do with this… this <em>thing.”</em> Doyoung’s eyes dart over to the record player, half-unboxed, still covered in styrofoam marshmallows. “I don’t even have CDs to play on this, and I have <em>Spotify</em> for god’s sake.” A sigh. “Yes, I know this was Dad’s. You’re right, I’m sorry. Thank you for this… gift. I’m sure I can find something to play on it from the records store across the street. Take care, mom. Love you.” </p><p>Doyoung hangs up and breathes very aggressively for several moments. It’s moments like this that Yuta remembers to be so thankful he doesn’t have a mother because frankly speaking, it sounds dreadful. An old woman whose sole job is to nag you? No thanks.</p><p>Doyoung walks over to the window, eyes shifting from the records store then to the record player.</p><p>“Coincidences,” he mutters.</p><p>Suddenly, Yuta’s not alone on the couch anymore.</p><p>“I told you we were a pair,” Yuta says, a smile stretching on his lips.</p><p>Sicheng blows his hair out of his eyes, crossing one leg over the other. “How exciting.” </p><p> </p><p>-</p><p>It’s one completely ordinary Tuesday morning when Doyoung decides to come down a bit earlier and finally visit the records shop once more.</p><p>Doyoung passes through the doorway with as much confidence as a five-year old on their first day of school. Jaehyun’s at the register, and he looks up almost instantly when the chimes signal Doyoung’s entry. Doyoung tries not to feel too pleased when Jaehyun’s face lights up with a smile. </p><p>“Ran out of change again?” is what Jaehyun says when Doyoung reaches the counter.</p><p>“I actually don’t know. God, I hope not. that’d be a pain in the ass. I’m here for a different reason this time, thankfully.” Doyoung tries to stay still, tries not to shuffle in place too much. “My mother, she sent me a record player and I haven’t the slightest idea how to work it, she didn’t even send a manual along with it. On top of that, I’ve not a single record in my possession. I think I ought to change that today, and seeing as you seem to be an expert…”</p><p>For a moment, Jaehyun’s eyes flash to the guitar case slung over Doyoung’s shoulder, followed by a curious raise of the eyebrow. Doyoung flushes.</p><p>“I know nothing about record players. I know, a musician who can’t operate a turntable and who doesn’t even own a record,” Doyoung laughs unsurely, “What a coincidence, I should be ashamed.”</p><p>“No,” Jaehyun says, as if startled, then, more firmly, “No. Not at all. A lot of musicians don’t own record players, much less know how to operate one, and that’s perfectly fine. It’s actually quite simple. Since you just live across the street I could come over and teach you how? I could bring some records as well to start you off.”</p><p>Doyoung doesn’t quite know what to say.</p><p>“If it’s alright with you of course,” Jaehyun continues, becoming shier now. “I wouldn’t want to impose.”</p><p>Doyoung nods. “Yeah, I think I’d like that. How did you know where I live?”</p><p>“Oh,” heat creeps up Jaehyun’s cheeks. “I notice you coming down every morning. For the bus.”</p><p>“Right,” the time on Doyoung’s watch reads 8:04. Hastily, he snatches a piece of paper from a stack of post-its on the counter, and after borrowing a nearby pencil, he scribbles his apartment number and a time and date on the paper. “Here’s where to find me—” He finishes scrawling, pasting the post-it on the register where it would be impossible for Jaehyun not to see it. “You can come over on Friday, I’m free from noon until evening . Is that okay with you?”</p><p>Jaehyun considers the paper for a moment, smiling in that way of his. “Perfect. I’ll see you then.”</p><p>The bus pulls up to the stop, and Doyoung’s feet are already leading him out of the store. He waves Jaehyun goodbye, managing a strained <em>‘see you!’</em> as sprints out the door. </p><p>“Do you know how dirty that is?”</p><p>Sicheng fixes Yuta with a mildly disgusted look. Yuta smiles at him from where he’s sprawling over the bus stop bench. </p><p>“It’s comfy,” Yuta says simply. </p><p>“Hm. Try a couch, your perception of comfort will be turned upside down.” Then, with a suppressed exhale, “Move over.”</p><p>“Huh?”</p><p>Sicheng’s brows furrow. “Move. Over. I want to sit down.”</p><p>Yuta shuffles to make space for Sicheng. “Now isn’t that cozy?”</p><p>“No,” Sicheng holds his breath as smoke clouds their part of the street. The bus leaves the stop with a creak. “Public spaces are designed to be uncomfortable. It’s how governments oppress poor people.”</p><p>Yuta hums. “You don’t need to hold your breath, you know.” </p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Smoke,” Yuta smiles at him, almost as if he was endeared. “It doesn’t hurt you. None of the things from the real world can hurt us. Trust me, I’ve been in enough burning buildings to know.”</p><p>“People dying in a fire,” Sicheng contemplates. Then, he looks at Yuta. “Fate <em>is </em>cruel, after all.” </p><p>“Now who said anything about dying?” Before Sicheng could question what this means, Yuta follows up with a question. “What brings you here?”</p><p>“Doyoung woke up ten minutes earlier, for some reason. It gave him time to visit Jaehyun. And you?”</p><p>“Just because.”</p><p>Sicheng narrows his eyes. “Let me guess, <em>‘all of this is Fate, everything is Fate, everything is about me?’”</em></p><p>Yuta laughs. “I’m not <em>that</em> self-absorbed. But yes, in a way. All this <em>is</em> fate, my dear Chance. From the big things to the small. You being here with me on this fine morning. Jaehyun inheriting his shop from his father. Doyoung being a musician. Me being me. Everything that happens is supposed to happen.”</p><p>“You’re wrong,” Sicheng says after a while. By then, he’s already walking away. “I don’t know how, but you are.”</p><p>“I’m really not,” Yuta calls after him, not moving from his spot. “I’m <em>Fate! </em>I know everything!”</p><p>-</p><p>The ring of the doorbell comes at exactly 2:06 PM, and Doyoung would be lying if he said he hadn’t been waiting since the clock struck twelve. </p><p>Doyoung gets up from his bed a little faster than he’d like to admit, and he spares a glance at the mirror and pats himself down before turning the knob. When he swings the door open, Doyoung’s heart starts beating wildly for reasons he cannot figure out. </p><p>“Hi,” Doyoung says, leaning awkwardly against the door. </p><p>“Hi.” Jaehyun smiles. “Can I come in?”</p><p>“Yep.” Doyoung ushers him inside, suddenly becoming conscious of his little apartment. “Would you like something to drink?’</p><p>Jaehyun nods as Doyoung brings him over to the living room. “Just water, please.” </p><p>“Good, because the only other drink I have is a half-finished bottle of cheap vodka.” Doyoung pauses halfway to the kitchen. “Unless you’d like that?” </p><p>“I don’t make a habit of drinking when the sun’s still up,” Jaehyun admits. Then he adds, “Although I won’t judge if you do.”</p><p>“I work at a bar-slash-resto. I inhale alcohol.” Doyoung hands Jaehyun his glass of water, and Jaehyun looks at him with mild concern. “But don’t worry, I’m not an alcoholic. I think.”</p><p>“I wonder if the half-finished bottle of vodka would vouch for that.”</p><p>“Shut up,” Doyoung says, smiling. He reaches over to the record player still in its box, and after a while, and with Jaehyun’s help, he manages to set it upon the coffee table. It takes a few more moments to get it plugged in. “It’s quite heavy,” Doyoung says after, red tinting his cheeks at how much he struggled with it. “My arms aren’t very strong.”</p><p>Jaehyun smiles with a hint of fondness. “This model is very old. You said this was your mother’s?”</p><p>“My father’s,” Doyoung corrects. He shifts his weight from foot to foot with uncertainty, standing across from Jaehyun. “He owns it. He hasn’t had much use for it since he’s been admitted into a nursing home. My mother probably got sick of seeing it collect dust in the corner.”</p><p>He notices Jaehyun’s expression of curiosity. “Alzheimer’s,” Doyoung says.</p><p>“Oh,” Jaehyun says quietly. His curiosity is replaced with mild shock, then pity. The air gets stale as Jaehyun visibly struggles to find words. </p><p>Doyoung drags a hand down his face. “God, you don’t have to say anything. I’m so sorry for dropping that on you. Not a very good conversation starter, is it?”</p><p>“No, it’s alright,” Jaehyun says, half an exhale. “Sounds like you’ve had no one to vent to. I can listen if you want? I’m sorry about your father, if it’s any consolation.”</p><p>“Thank you, I appreciate that. I’ve come to terms with it some time ago though, at least I think I have. It’s made it just a bit easier to talk about it. I guess at some point, you just accept that Fate’s a cruel thing.” There’s silence for a moment, where both of them seem to be dragged into the depths of their thoughts. “Anyways, the record player?”</p><p>“Right,” Jaehyun moves on the couch, shifting to make space for Doyoung. He pats the space beside him. “Let’s give you a record player 101. I’ll try not to confuse you with all the fancy record player terms.”</p><p>Doyoung nods. Jaehyun reaches into a paper bag he brought with him, bringing out two vinyl records. One big, and another smaller one.</p><p>“This,” Jaehyun starts, carefully extracting the bigger record from its case, “Is a twelve-inch record. It’s less common, and contains an entire album. First, carefully put it on the platter like so,” Jaehyun gently slides the record down onto the space that looked like it was meant to hold the record. “And move the needle over the record. <em>Don’t</em> push it down,” Doyoung watches as Jaehyun moves the long arm-thing like he said to. </p><p>Jaehyun’s concentration is subtle and practiced, and something about it makes Doyoung feel <em>something.</em> </p><p>“How does it go down then?”</p><p>Jaehyun smiles at how childlike Doyoung was just then. “You flick this lever, and it goes down. Remember how I said this record contains an album?” He gets a quick nod as a reply. “You can change between songs by simply locating the deeper grooves on the record. Each one marks a new song.”</p><p>Jaehyun flicks the lever again, and the needle rises. He moves it over to the final groove, and when he lowers it, there’s a few moments of static before a familiar tune starts playing. </p><p>Doyoung gasps. “That is <em>so</em> cool.”</p><p>“I know,” Jaehyun smiles. “Do you recognize this song?”</p><p>“What album did you say this was?”</p><p>“I didn’t. It’s Solo by Frankie Valli. This song is-”</p><p>Doyoung’s breath catches. <em>“Can’t Take My Eyes Off You.”</em></p><p>When Doyoung looks at Jaehyun, he finds that those honey brown eyes are already on him. </p><p>
  <em>Pardon the way that I stare, there’s nothin’ else to compare.</em>
</p><p>Doyoung blushes and averts his gaze. The side of his head burns with Jaehyun’s gaze. </p><p>“So,” He makes a sound that could either be a cough or a clearing of the throat. “Do I need to do anything different for the smaller one?”</p><p>Jaehyun removes the record, and the music cuts off at once.</p><p>“Yeah. Just pull this part up,” He pulls something up from the center of the platter. “Put the record on, and before you move the needle and pull the lever, flick this switch. If you don’t, the sound will be distorted.”</p><p>It takes Doyoung a while to speak.</p><p>“That’s all?”</p><p>Jaehyun nods. “That’s all.”</p><p>The song that plays is upbeat and light, and the first verse greets them with the sound of hands clapping to the beat. Doyoung recognizes it as another Beatles song.</p><p>
  <em>Oh please, say to me</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You’ll let me be your man.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And please, say to me</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You’ll let me hold your hand. </em>
</p><p>Doyoung exhales forcefully.</p><p>
  <em>I want to hold your hand.</em>
</p><p>“Cute song,” he says quietly. </p><p>Jaehyun hums in agreement, and Doyoung can <em>feel</em> the smile in the sound he makes even when he’s not looking.</p><p>“Are you hungry?” He asks after mustering his courage. “I’ve not had lunch and I can make us something.”</p><p>When he looks at Jaehyun and the way his eyes are crinkled in the corners, Doyoung already knows the answer before it even leaves the other man’s mouth.</p><p>-</p><p>“He called me cruel,” Yuta whines, leaning against Doyoung's kitchen counter. </p><p>Sicheng fixes him with an unimpressed look from where he sits at the dining table. “Aren’t you?”</p><p>Yuta glares, then he calms down after a pause.</p><p>“I mean, <em>yeah, </em>I am, but it hurts when I have to hear it out loud.” </p><p><em>Serves you right. </em>“Sucks to be you, I guess.” </p><p>“Don’t people ever curse Coincidence out?”</p><p>“No,” Sicheng says without hesitation. “Coincidences are like happy accidents. Sometimes they’re scary, but never cruel.” </p><p>“Happy and scary, but not cruel. I’ll add that to your list of personality traits.” When Sicheng blinks, Yuta is sitting in the chair nearest to him. It takes all his self-control not to jump in his seat. </p><p>“You keep a list of my personality traits?”</p><p>“Yeah, in my head,” Yuta says with a light smile, as if it wasn’t the slightest bit questionable. “So far you’re cold on the outside, probably really warm on the inside. Stubborn. You’re quiet because you get lost in your thoughts a lot. And you can be happy and scary but not cruel.”</p><p>“Great, at that rate you can be my secretary.” Sicheng looks Yuta up and down. He pretends to give it some thought. “But that’s all basic information, you’re hardly doing impressive work. I thought you were Fate, who knew everything?”</p><p>Yuta’s eyes widen, brows furrowing, his composure cracking just for a moment, but he breathes in, then out, and he’s smiling at Sicheng again in that sly way of his.</p><p>“Just you wait. I’m going to figure you out.”</p><p>“I’m counting on it.” But when Sicheng turns to look at Yuta again, there’s only an empty space beside him. </p><p>-</p><p>Doyoung had invited Jaehyun to stay over for lunch, but upon finding that there was nothing in his fridge but a single carrot, they went down to a nearby traditional restaurant. </p><p>“So what’s a man like you doing stuck in a dusty music shop?”</p><p>It takes a while for the answer to come, because Jaehyun’s very persistently chewing through a mouthful of meat. Doyoung slurps some noodles to fill in the silence. </p><p>“I had to take over from my father,” Jaehyun says, swallowing. “He had to retire at some point. I only took over a few months ago.”</p><p>“That explains why you’re not a familiar face. I know the people around the block pretty well. Doesn’t it get boring, though?”</p><p>“Very,” Jaehyun admits, almost shyly. “Especially when customers are scarce. Other than that though, I quite like it. It’s quiet, simple, and I’ve got nothing to worry about except for the dust that collects on the shelves. I make covers when I have free time.”</p><p>
  <em>Covers?</em>
</p><p>“You sing?” Doyoung tries not to look too surprised.</p><p>Jaehyun’s ears turn red. “Yeah, I upload my covers, it’s how I earn aside from the shop. I don’t mean to brag, but I’ve amassed quite a following.”</p><p>“Would you mind if I see?” </p><p>“Sure.” Jaehyun scrolls through his phone before handing it to Doyoung. The video had several million views. “This is my most popular one.” </p><p>The intro alone is enough to trigger familiarity in Doyoung’s mind. A body comes into view, face and head obscured from the camera. Gentle hands dance among the keys of a piano, playing the familiar tune of Elton John’s<em> ‘Your Song’.</em> Doyoung’s eyes flash down to the video uploader.</p><p>
  <strong>Jung Jaehyun</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>544k Subscribers</strong>
</p><p>“Holy shit,” Doyoung mutters under his breath. “You’re <em>the </em>Jung Jaehyun?”</p><p>Jaehyun laughs nervously. “Yep.”</p><p>“I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you from your voice. I mean, it’s just so warm and gentle and I literally <em>cannot </em>count the times I’ve fallen asleep to your singing.”</p><p>Now it’s Doyoung’s turn to blush a deep red. “Uh, I mean, you sing really well. And you play the piano really well. Just. Wow.”</p><p>“You’re too much.” Jaehyun ducks his head down into his rice bowl. “Don’t you sing too? I figured you perform somewhere since you carry your guitar around everyday.”</p><p>“Yeah, I sing at a bar my friend owns. It’s not as rowdy as some of the more popular clubs downtown. It’s supposed to be mellow and ambient most of the time. Some nights are wild though, if Taeyong has enough drinks and gets his hands on his Lady Gaga playlists.”</p><p>“Sounds cool,” Jaehyun says in earnest. “I would love to see you sing, if it’s okay with you.”</p><p>“Oh,” Aside from his mother, no one had ever asked to see him sing. The thought of <em>Jaehyun</em> seeing him perform makes his heart do cartwheels. “Uh, sure.”</p><p>
Jaehyun’s eyebrows knit together in concern. “You really don’t have to if you’re not comfortable with it.”</p><p>“No, it’s alright.” Doyoung lets a smile spread across his face. “I’d love for you to be there. I usually do covers, but I perform my original songs on Mondays, in the late evening. Maybe around 7 PM?”</p><p>“I’ll be there.”</p><p>And just like that, Doyoung starts to welcome the fluttering of his heart. </p><p>When they finish lunch, they divide the pay between them. They find themselves walking slowly down the street, as if both were reluctant to leave each other’s company. </p><p>“This is me,” Doyoung says, stopping in front of his building. </p><p>“Take these,” Jaehyun hands him the paper bag containing the records. He stops Doyoung before he could even refuse. “Don’t bother refusing. You said you didn’t have any records, and <em>I </em>am going to change that.”</p><p>Doyoung takes the bag with tentative fingers. “Thank you, Jaehyun. I’ll see you?”</p><p>Jaehyun’s already moving to cross the street. He looks back at Doyoung over his shoulder, the sun catching his hair in the most perfect way. </p><p>“You will.” </p><p>-</p><p>Life is a mystery. </p><p>But Coincidence?</p><p><em>That</em> is a whole other mystery, and the more Yuta spends time with him, the more there is to know. It’s like when you cut off the head of a hydra and three more appear. If anything, the challenge makes Yuta want to know more, even more so than before. </p><p>It just doesn’t sit right with him that for everything Fate knew, he couldn’t understand Coincidence.</p><p>And so, he goes on a hunt.</p><p>-</p><p>Yuta is greeted by a questioning raise of the brow. </p><p>“Are you making it a habit to follow me around?”</p><p>Sicheng stands at a sidewalk, perfectly still and quiet, at least before Yuta arrived. Clad in a black coat and an indifferent expression, Yuta could have mistaken Coincidence for a messenger of Death. </p><p>“I told you I was going to figure you out,” Yuta walks closer, effortlessly putting a carefree smile on his face. “What better way to do that than spend some time together? What are you up to, my dearest Chance?”</p><p>It takes Sicheng a while to answer. They’re in the not-so pretty part of the city, and some unpleasant stench wafts through the air with each stray breeze.</p><p>“I play the grim reaper’s part today.” Sicheng stares ahead at the grocery from across the street. “By coincidence, an old woman will come across an old friend she hadn’t seen in years. She’s going to be held up at that point precisely.”</p><p>Sicheng points at the street corner. “A drunk will crash his car into both of them.”</p><p>Yuta hums. “And here I thought you weren’t cruel.”</p><p>“If I could change things I could. But if I chose to, someone else dies at the old woman’s expense. It’s the way the universe works: life for a life. It eventually gets what it is due, one way or another.” Sicheng looks at Yuta, his eyes unreadable. “It’s easier to just let things happen as they should, don’t you think?”</p><p>Yuta gives it some thought.</p><p>“Sometimes I think a little bit of interference is necessary. Like the time I saved the president from getting assassinated, or when I made circumstances unfavorable for a spy who was going to leak crucial information that would have opened the world up to a war. It’s all a matter of judging by a case by case basis.” </p><p>“So are you going to save this old lady?”</p><p>Yuta holds Sicheng’s gaze. </p><p>“Well, she’s lived a long, hard-working life. She probably deserves to live a bit longer.” </p><p>Then, he snaps a finger. </p><p>As a minivan swerves across the street, it narrowly avoids the two elderly women on the corner. </p><p>Yuta doesn’t know what reaction he expected from Sicheng, he expected <em>something</em> at least, but the man’s face remains blank even in the face of reality being altered in front of his very eyes.</p><p>Then, Sicheng huffs. “Are you used to playing god?”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Life for a life, Fate.” Sicheng starts walking away from him, but his voice carries nonetheless. “The universe gets what it is due. I thought you would’ve known that.”</p><p>Yuta catches up to him before he disappears again. “Do you have a personal vendetta against me?” </p><p>“No, but a lot of people do. Ever heard of the phrase <em>‘cruel trick of Fate’?</em>” </p><p>“So what? If that’s how Fate is, then that’s how it is.” Yuta tries not to sound too aggravated. </p><p>Sicheng doesn’t seem fazed. “Doesn’t seem that way judging by how you “saved” that woman just now. So you pick and choose who gets to live and who gets to die, who gets to suffer and who doesn’t? You could cause a lot of problems, doing what you do.”</p><p>Yuta stops. “Why are you suddenly being like this?”</p><p>Sicheng turns to him, the barest inkling of pity flickering across his face.</p><p>“Because, Fate, you think of yourself as some divine being, as some saint. You think you can grant people the good side of Fate like it’s some reward, and in that regard you most likely bestow its wrathful parts as some kind of punishment as well.”</p><p>“You don’t even know me,” Yuta says, an attempt at defiance, but the fire in his glare is dampened by the conflict in his voice. </p><p>“But am I wrong?”</p><p>Sicheng sighs after a moment of silence, because he doesn’t need to turn around to know that there’s nobody there anymore. </p><p>-</p><p>The lights are low at Neo 127, and the cool air is abuzz with the pleasant sound of a guitar being tuned. A few patrons are scattered amongst the empty tables, and Doyoung thinks that the atmosphere is more so sad rather than ambient. </p><p>There’s a lonely man at a bar, his back hunched and his mouth moving in incoherent, slurred words that Doyoung can’t hear. If he’s judging by Taeyong’s distressed expression, it couldn’t be anything good. </p><p>Taeyong catches his gaze, and with his eyes he begs for Doyoung to start playing, as if the strumming of his guitar can calm the man into sobriety. </p><p>Doyoung nods anyway and casts a glance over his audience. </p><p><em>They’re all lonely,</em> Doyoung thinks. </p><p>They probably come here for peace and quiet that’s meant to be unhappy. They’re all lonely, too lonely to pay any attention to his singing or playing. Doyoung could perform any song with an audience like this, as long as it fills in the silence in between shots and wine glass refills. </p><p>After some thought, he decides to sing a Troye Sivan song that’s been running around in his mind. </p><p>It’s five songs later when the clock ticks past 7:30, and Doyoung finds his gaze drawn more and more to the distant entrance with each passing second. However, he only finds disappointment when bodies pass the door by and turn out to only be passersby.</p><p>Doyoung ignores the concerned glances Taeyong sends his way, his mind entirely too fixed on images of a head of brown hair and deep dimples and crescent-eyed smiles. </p><p>Doyoung finishes a song, getting scattered applause that he nonetheless gratefully bows to. He has fifteen minutes to rest before his next set starts, and he takes the opportunity to put down his guitar and head over to the bar. </p><p>“What’s got you on edge?” Taeyong asks the moment Doyoung settles down on a stool. </p><p>Doyoung feels <em>shy</em> just talking about Jaehyun, and he contemplates just acting as if he couldn’t hear Taeyong, but he’s a little stressed and he <em>has </em>to tak about it so Doyoung forces the words out his own throat. </p><p>“Remember yesterday, when I said I was bringing a friend tonight?”</p><p>Doyoung doesn’t need to look to know that Taeyong is raising a thick brow at him. “Yeah?”</p><p>“Well, he’s late,” Doyoung rushes out. “And he said he’ll be here and I trust him, but what if-“</p><p>A gush of air washes into the bar as the door opens. </p><p>“Is that him?”</p><p>Doyoung follows Taeyong’s eyes, his head turning at a speed that made him dizzy. </p><p>His eyes land upon the half-open entrance, his ears registering the soft padding of footsteps heading straight for him. </p><p>Jaehyun strides through the doorway, a little disheveled but still so unfairly handsome, and when his eyes find Doyoung, he smiles like he just found some precious piece of treasure. </p><p>Doyoung’s breath catches in the back of his throat, and finally, he allows himself a shy smile.</p><p>Taeyong mutters something about gay melodrama under his breath. </p><p>“You made it,” Doyoung says, a little too relieved. </p><p>“I promised I would,” Jaehyun smiles, hand brushing against Doyoung’s arm in greeting. ”I’m sorry for being late, there was trouble at the store. I hope I didn’t miss out on anything?”</p><p>“Oh no, you didn’t,” Taeyong interrupts. Doyoung shoots him a cautioning look. “In fact, Doie here was just resting his angelic vocal chords <em>all for you.”</em></p><p>Taeyong smiles with more than a little cunning, and Doyoung laughs unsurely.</p><p>“Jaehyun this is Taeyong. Taeyong, Jaehyun.” His eyes dart between the two. “Jaehyun is my neighbor.”</p><p>Jaehyun extends his hand out to Taeyong, and the two shake hands amicably, not without a smooth “Pleasure to meet you,” from Jaehyun.</p><p>“Jaehyun, this is Taeyong, my best friend. He owns this place, and he’s kind of crazy.” Doyoung laughs as Taeyong scrunches his nose at him. “Taeyong, why don’t you pour Jaehyun a drink? It’s on me.”</p><p>“Didn’t know you had enough money to pay for other people’s drinks,” Taeyong chirps. Then, he turns to Jaehyun with a wink. “What can I get you?”</p><p>“Uh, whiskey?”</p><p>Taeyong departs to fetch Jaehyun a bottle of whiskey, a spring in his step as he hums the tune to a Lady Gaga song. </p><p>“I hope Taeyong doesn’t scare you off,” Doyoung says, apologetic. </p><p>“Oh, no. I think he’s quite amusing.” </p><p>A glass slides up to Jaehyun, followed by a pouring of dark gold liquid. </p><p>“Ice?” Taeyong asks, and Jaehyun nods. The whiskey in the glass sloshes as Taeyong drops a block into it. Taeyong’s eyes flit between the two before he makes a peculiar expression. “I’ll leave you two to it.”</p><p>“He likes playing cupid,” Doyoung says a while later, when the owner’s out of earshot. He takes a sip of his own drink as Jaehyun regards him with curiosity. “He thinks he’s setting us up. It’s a bit silly, if you ask me.”</p><p>“I wouldn’t mind being set up with you,” Jaehyun replies, and despite the quiet huskiness of his voice, the bar is more than silent enough for Doyoung to hear it well. </p><p>“What?” Doyoung flushes. </p><p>“Nothing.” Jaehyun smiles, and the way it stretches his lips is slow and could mean many things but Doyoung just focuses on how pretty it makes him look. “When do you start playing again?”</p><p>Doyoung’s eyes refuse to leave Jaehyun’s face for a moment, but he forces his gaze down at the dull glow of his phone screen to look at the time. He looks back up at Jaehyun with more hesitance than he would have liked.  </p><p>“Now, actually,” Doyoung says, fiddling with his sleeves. “I’m not that good so don’t get your hopes up.”</p><p>“Doyoung,” Jaehyun chides softly. “I’ll love it either way.”</p><p><em>Because it’s you, </em>were the words whispered only in Jaehyun’s mind, only for him to dwell upon and not for Doyoung to hear. “Besides,” Jaehyun continues. “You’ve been doing this for years. Just think of me as another audience member. Like I’m no one special.”</p><p>“Alright,” Doyoung nods, slowly sliding off the barstool. “Listen well.”</p><p>“I will.” </p><p>Doyoung walks up to the measly platform that was his stage, and suddenly, the practiced movements Doyoung is accustomed to feels foreign. His guitar feels heavier in his shaking hands and his fingers don’t quite seem to rest properly on the strings. And his throat feels dry and he wants to stop and back out but he doesn’t want to all at once.</p><p><em>You’ve been doing this for years, </em>Doyoung reassures himself. <em>You’re good, and Jaehyun being here doesn’t change that.</em></p><p>To have someone’s attention fully on you, to have their eyes read into you and not know their thoughts, to see only the mask of their face - that’s nerve-wracking. Doyoung never really got used to it. He still feels that unsettling chill inside him with the start of every set. But, once his fingers play upon the strings of his guitar and the sound reverberates against the walls and ceiling, the coldness eating away at the edges of his heart subsides into a warm, calming familiarity. </p><p>He breathes in as the verse starts, his exhale accompanied by the light sound of his voice. </p><p>Doyoung wrote this song for himself. </p><p>He was new to the city and he felt so alone and scared and all these other things that made him feel like a fish out of the water. He wrote this song to remind himself that being alone isn’t the same as being lonely. That being by yourself can be a reliable, if unconventional source of strength, and to some extent, even happiness.</p><p>As a singer, Doyoung’s instrument is his voice. His tool is his guitar and with deft fingers and he crafts his song. </p><p>The best he can do is let his emotion leak into his words like color would bleed on a blank canvas, like how the sun lets vibrance drip onto the world below. </p><p>Doyoung lets the lyrics stream from his mouth as easily as if he was simply speaking. Years of practice and toiling and meticulous correction and improvement has allowed him to manipulate his voice and produce something <em>sublime.</em></p><p>No longer tethered by feelings of uncertainty or gripped by nerves, Doyoung sings his songs, feeling as at home at the stage as he’s ever been. </p><p>-</p><p>“He’s talented isn’t he?” </p><p>It takes Jaehyun a moment to drag his eyes away from Doyoung. Beneath the low amber lights, he looks ethereal. </p><p>Jaehyun turns his head toward Taeyong albeit slowly, still entranced by Doyoung’s singing. He nods. “He’s very special.”</p><p>Taeyong smiles, and it’s fond and accompanied by an indecipherable sigh. “I hired him thinking he was just another starry-eyed fresh college grad with moonshot dreams of making it big. The bar was new, and nights here were full and wild and everything an owner like me could’ve hoped for a new business. Those were the days,” Taeyong says, and when Jaehyun looks at him he finds eyes more wizened than he’d expected. In mere seconds, Taeyong appears as his true age. Late twenties and having seen more than enough of life. He continues, “Anyways, there was one thing that caught the people’s attention. I think you can guess what, or who.”</p><p>“Doyoung,” Jaehyun says, not a question but an affirmation.</p><p>Taeyong nods. “I swear, the first time I heard him sing I teared up. It was like god opened the gates of heaven and let one of his angels sing a song. And you know what really got me? One moment he’s singing like he’s just lost everything, and the next he has you jumping from your seat and rushing to the dance floor. You know what that is?” </p><p>Taeyong doesn’t even let Jaehyun answer.</p><p>“Charisma,” Taeyong says, holding up a finger, then another, “Uniqueness. Nerve, and Talent.” </p><p>“...Cunt?”</p><p>Taeyong nods the way a preacher would to a bible verse. “Damn fucking right, Doyoung is cunt personified.”</p><p>Jaehyun laughs, and Taeyong smiles with him.</p><p>“So, you’re right,” Taeyong says a second later. “He’s very special. And he‘s… he’s my best friend. He deserves so much, Jaehyun. Happiness, success, and I know he won’t admit it but he also wants someone to share all that with.”</p><p>Jaehyun doesn’t need to ask to know what Taeyong means. He takes a few moments to think of what to say, and he settles for an honest, “I won’t hurt him.”</p><p>Taeyong’s shoulders sag as he sighs, whether it’s out of relief or anything else, Jaehyun doesn’t know. “That’s good to hear, because he’s fragile.”</p><p>Jaehyun can’t help but look surprised, and Taeyong looks as if he understands.</p><p>“I reacted the same when I found out,” Taeyong says, watching the sloshing alcohol in his glass as he turns it around in his hand. “He’s the type that comes off strong and thick-skinned, and he is, in a way. He’s brazen, and fierce, and fearless to some extent. But he’s also soft, and vulnerable, and even if he doesn’t cry, he’s still hurting. Not everyone has to shed tears to be in pain. So,” Taeyong looks up at Jaehyun with compelling eyes. “When you say you won’t hurt him, it also means that you’re going to take care of him in the case that you do.”</p><p>Jaehyun nods. “He deserves that much.” Then, after a pause, “Why are you telling me all this?”</p><p>Taeyong shrugs. “I’m wondering too. Just felt right, I guess. Doyoung's never brought a friend in all the years he’s worked for me. You must be someone very special.”</p><p>“Thank you. For telling me, I mean. I’ll keep that in mind.”</p><p>Taeyong nods.</p><p>“Do you fancy another drink? I’ll make you a proper one - whiskey is for old white men.”</p><p>Jaehyun doesn’t even have a chance to refuse because Taeyong’s already pouring him a drink that looks like it’s going to <em>burn</em> on its way down. </p><p>-</p><p>Doyoung’s next break comes an hour later, and Jaehyun’s still in the same spot, albeit a little redder than when he came in. </p><p>“I hope I didn’t bore you,” Doyoung says, settling down beside Jaehyun. </p><p>Jaehyun looks glad for Doyoung to be back. “Not at all. You were <em>amazing.</em> I loved every second.”</p><p>“Thank you,” Doyoung’s face prickles as heat crawls up his neck. “I see you’ve had a few drinks.”</p><p>“Just a few,” Jaehyun says. Doyoung notices that he’s become more smiley. “I didn’t want to get drunk because I still have to walk you home. I’m a bit dizzy though. Just a little.”</p><p><em>Honest when drunk,</em> Doyoung notes. He stifles a laugh. “Taeyong, what did you give him?”</p><p>“Huh? Oh, just a bit of everything.”</p><p>Jaehyun grabs onto Doyoung’s sleeve, looking at him with dilated pupils.  “It’s like when you mix different sodas together. Except it’s alcohol.”</p><p>“Right,” Doyoung tries not to focus on Jaehyun’s hand on his arm, instead managing a smile. “Taeyong, can Jaehyun have a glass of water please?” </p><p>- </p><p>“We’re off!”</p><p>Doyoung bids Taeyong farewell, already walking towards the door. The owner was wiping down the last of the tables, and he waves them off with a towel in hand. It’s half-past midnight, and while other bars are just getting started, Neo 127 retires for a night’s repose. Doyoung is thankful, if anything. More customers meant longer shifts and less time to sleep.</p><p>Jaehyun had managed to sober down in the last hour or two, and now he’s back to his usual, mellow self. The traces of crimson in his cheeks have just begun to disappear. </p><p>“It’s getting cold,” Doyoung breathes, rubbing his hands together. His exhale fogs up the air in front of him. “Winter’s getting closer.”</p><p>There’s shuffling beside him, and before he knows it, warm hands are draping a coat over his shoulders.</p><p>“You’re underdressed,” Jaehyun says softly, in a tone that makes him sound as if he’s chiding. He wraps his coat tight around Doyoung. </p><p>At this rate, Doyoung’s lost count of how many times he’s blushed tonight, and it’s certainly <em>not</em> the alcohol’s fault. “I forgot my coat at home.”</p><p>Jaehyun’s firm hands tug Doyoung closer, and their breaths mingle in the cold air with only each other’s warmth to spare. Jaehyun’s hands stay on the collar of the coat he put around Doyoung, and they’re so close that their chests press together and they could feel the other’s heartbeat even through their clothes.</p><p>Doyoung doesn’t know what to say. </p><p>“Uhm.”</p><p>Jaehyun smiles. “Hi.” </p><p>Jaehyun’s face is so close that Doyoung could make out the small, defiant bristles of hair on his chin, the beginnings of skin starting to peel off his lips from the cold, his pores and his eyebags and each strand of his eyelashes. </p><p>Doyoung is absolutely <em>captivated.</em></p><p>The bus pulls up just then, and Doyoung, although reluctant, has to tear himself away from Jaehyun.</p><p>“We have to go,” he says, already hobbling onto the bus. </p><p>Jaehyun drops some coins in the basket. </p><p>They find a pair of seats in the middle of the bus, far enough from the driver that they have their own bubble of privacy. There was no one else on this route with them, after all not a lot of people make a habit of going to and from this part of the city at this time. </p><p>When they settle into their seats, Jaehyun breaks the silence. “Doyoung?”</p><p>Doyoung looks away from the dull city lights beyond the window. “Hm?” </p><p>“If I make you uncomfortable, tell me okay?”</p><p>“What?” Doyoung’s brows furrow. Then, he realizes. “Oh, Jaehyun. You don’t make me uncomfortable. If this is about the touching, I’m just not used to it, that’s all, but I’m fine. I promise.”</p><p>“Okay,” Jaehyun exhales. “Just making sure.” </p><p>“Here,” Doyoung says, offering Jaehyun one of his earbuds. “Put this on.”</p><p>Jaehyun takes it with a smile as Doyoung pulls up one of his playlists. </p><p>When they get settled, Doyoung pulls up one of his playlists and offers Jaehyun one of his earbuds. Jaehyun accepts it with a small smile. </p><p>The soft, mellow sound of a familiar song streams into their ears, and Doyoung watches as Jaehyun’s eyes light up with recognition. </p><p>“Cigarettes After Sex?” Jaehyun looks at Doyoung with crescents for eyes. “You listen to them too?”</p><p>“They’re pretty good,” Doyoung admits. Then, he looks down at his hands and adds, “I had a feeling you would like them.” </p><p>Jaehyun leans back into his seat contentedly, the night made much better by one song. Doyoung stares down at his phone, watching the small dot move across the screen as the song treads further into its minutes.</p><p>
  <strong>Falling in Love - Cigarettes After Sex</strong>
</p><p>Doyoung breathes out. He thinks it’s far too early for love, but he catches a glimpse of Jaehyun in the window reflection and decides that no, it’s not love, but something of the same nature. </p><p>-</p><p>They get off the bus, and the night seems like it’s going to end here on this pavement, but Doyoung hesitates. </p><p>He casts a glance at the dark window of his apartment, and internally decides that <em>maybe</em> he doesn’t want to be alone yet. Maybe for once, he’ll let the night end later. </p><p>When he looks at Jaehyun, it’s as if he already knows what Doyoung is thinking.</p><p>“Want to come with me to the store?” Jaehyun looks hopeful. “I didn’t have a chance to properly close down earlier.” </p><p>Doyoung nods, smiling. </p><p>Doyoung hasn’t been in the store in weeks, and the smell that greets him is both foreign and familiar. Then, after spending a few more seconds there, he realizes that it smells like Jaehyun and a bunch of old records.</p><p>It’s a slight scent, an undertone. You barely notice it, but when you do it’s a pleasing moment. It felt like being close to Jaehyun - and Doyoung is somehow calmed by that. </p><p>Jaehyun turns the key, pushing the door open with a chime. “Have you had a chance to listen to the records I gave you?”</p><p>“Yeah. They’re really good.” <em>And really romantic, </em>Doyoung fails to add. </p><p>“You could take a look at more,” Jaehyun says, his voice becoming distant as he starts to haul stacks of boxes to the store room. “There’s a buy 1-get-1 promo. I’ll give you a 20% discount because you’re cute.”</p><p>“Ever the salesman, I see.” Doyoung scans the record-filled shelves. “Are cute boys the only ones who get discounts?”</p><p>Jaehyun’s voice echoes from the storeroom. “We at Sunshine Records actually don’t make it a habit to give discounts, but we make exceptions for really special people. Really <em>cute</em> people.”  </p><p>Doyoung tries not to giggle, because that’s something embarrassed schoolkids do when their crush talks to them for the first time, and Doyoung is <em>way</em> past that. </p><p>Footsteps pad up from behind him. </p><p>“I’m having a hard time choosing,” Doyoung calls, mindlessly dragging a finger across one of the shelves. “Would the owner kindly help a customer out?”</p><p>“Sure thing,” says a voice from over his shoulder, and Doyoung whips around to find Jaehyun closer than he expected him to be. His heart starts racing. “I have some recommendations, if you’ll allow me to just-” </p><p>Jaehyun reaches around Doyoung to a shelf behind him, and the action brings Jaehyun so close that Doyoung can smell the cologne on his neck, so close that his exhale tickles Doyoung’s ear. When Jaehyun leans back, he holds a record up to view. The image of Whitney Houston stares back at him. “Can’t go wrong with Miss Whitney. This album contains her hit song, I Wanna Dance With Somebody.”</p><p>Doyoung nods, flustered, and he takes a step back but not before taking the record from Jaehyun’s hands. “I’ll take that then.”</p><p>He turns around with the intention of putting some distance between him and Jaehyun, but the latter appears in front of him again, although farther this time. It only helps a little. He holds another record up to view. </p><p>“How Deep Is Your Love?” Jaehyun’s smiling, and Doyoung <em>knows</em> he understands perfectly well the effect this is having on him. “From the movie Saturday Night Fever. We should watch it sometime.”</p><p>“We should,” Doyoung agrees, if only to put an end to this <em>obscene</em> flirtation. But then, Jaehyun’s hands are wrapping around his own, and with a firm grip he takes the records out of Doyoung’s hands.</p><p>“Let me bag that for you,” Jaehyun says, and with a smirk he walks toward the register. “That’ll be ten bucks, by the way. Discount applied.”</p><p>“You’re insufferable,” Doyoung mutters as he walks up to the counter. He hands Jaehyun a bill, who takes it from his hands, making it a point to brush their fingers together. “Is this how you get when you drink?”</p><p>“I’m perfectly sober,” Jaehyun says innocently. Then, with a bit more guile, “You love it though.”</p><p>Doyoung narrows his eyes at him. “So bold. What’s gotten into you?”</p><p>
“Nothing,” Jaehyun says with a smile. He shuts the register and locks it with a key. “Shall I walk you across the street?”</p><p>“...Alright,” Doyoung says slowly, still unused to this new brazen version of Jaehyun being presented to him. Doyoung <em>likes</em> it, in fact, he even thinks it’s kind of <em>hot.</em></p><p>Judging by the smirk on Jaehyun’s lips, he doesn’t plan to stop anytime soon. </p><p>Jaehyun holds the door open for him.</p><p>Doyoung feels a bit silly. After all, what grown man needs to be walked across the street? But he’s thankful for Jaehyun’s company anyway, and when they walk side-by-side their fingers brush together with each step. </p><p>They make it to the other side after an eternity. </p><p>“Thank you for coming tonight,” Doyoung says quietly, letting sincerity seep into his voice. “I appreciate it, really. It meant a lot to have someone want to listen to my craft again.”</p><p>“Your talent deserves to be shared with the world,” Jaehyun says, and those words leave his mouth so naturally that Doyoung almost tears up. “You’re really good, Doyoung. I feel honoured that you let me see that part of you.”</p><p>Not knowing what to say, Doyoung takes his phone out and hands it to Jaehyun. </p><p>“Your number?”</p><p>Cars and people pass them by as they exchange numbers, and right now nothing outside of their tiny bubble matters.</p><p>“Good night,” Doyoung says when they’ve pocketed their phones, and before he loses the courage to do so, he wraps his arms around Jaehyun’s waist in a sudden hug. “Thank you.”</p><p>Jaehyun is caught by surprise, and he finds that the breath has been stolen straight from his lungs. </p><p>Then, he regains his senses, and with welcoming arms he returns the embrace. Jaehyun leans into the softness of Doyoung’s hair and the unmistakable scent of coconut that seeps off of every strand. </p><p>“Good night, Doyoung,” Jaehyun whispers. “I’ll see you soon.” </p><p>Doyoung breaks away, and he spares one last glance at Jaehyun before walking away. He keeps his head ducked down until he’s in the building, and he waits for  Jaehyun’s footsteps to fade away before he lets himself breathe again.  </p><p>His heart hammers against his chest, and there’s an obnoxious giddiness blooming in his gut. Doyoung buries his face in his hands, afraid that a stray passerby would see his wide smile and think he’s crazy. </p><p>And perhaps he is, because it’s been what, barely two months since he’s met Jaehyun? And even less since they started talking, and they’re already like this? </p><p>Is that right? Is it normal?</p><p>But then again, Doyoung can’t bring himself to care. He feels good around Jaehyun, and he’s not rushing into anything. He’s just riding the tide and seeing what comes of it. </p><p>Doyoung bounds up the stairs two steps at a time, and when he gets to his apartment he washes down in a slightly better mood than all the nights before. </p><p>When he settles into bed, his phone screen lights up the darkness with a notification.</p><p>
  <em>Jung Jaehyun</em>
</p><p>Sleep well.</p><p>
  <em>Me</em>
</p><p>You too @.@ </p><p>
  <em>You saved Jung Jaehyun as Jaehyun &lt;3</em>
</p><p>-</p><p>The wind blows incessantly at a certain towertop, rustling even the heavy fabric of Sicheng’s coat. The city never sleeps, at least from up here. The sky collides with the cityscape in a vibrance of whites, yellows, and oranges. Sicheng has always found it mesmerizing how the city lights drowned out even the majesty of the endless stars above, leaving only the lonely moon to grace its heavenly perch. </p><p>“A pretty thing, the moon,” says a familiar voice.</p><p>“Kun,” Sicheng greets, not taking his eyes off the sky. “Been some time.”</p><p>“It has,” says Kun, light-toned as always. He easily positions himself beside Sicheng, although he stands so still that he’s almost unnoticeable. “What is the state of things?” </p><p>Sicheng turns to face him.</p><p>Kun was clad in much of the same fashion as him, apart from the wide-brimmed hat concealing a good portion of his face in shadow. His astute posture and raised chin made him seem like royalty without looking like one. He might as well be.</p><p>“I’m making progress.” </p><p>“That’s good to hear,” comes the easy reply.</p><p>Sicheng exhales forcefully. “We both know you never make visits just for small talk, Kun. Why are you here?”</p><p>There’s silence for the longest time, and the moon has moved several paces in the sky above before Kun speaks again.</p><p>“I hate to be the bearer of bad news on this fine night, but the people upstairs want results soon.” </p><p>“Who exactly are the <em>‘people upstairs’?”</em> </p><p>“Time. Faith. Death. Life. The forces that keep our world together. The powers that bind mortals to their earth.” </p><p>Sicheng scoffs. Kun’s face assumes a stonier expression.</p><p>“People battle Time. They discard their faith. They fear Death. And in this world, Life holds less value than money,” Sicheng spits. “They barely do anything but tear people apart.”</p><p>Kun tilts his head up so that the moonlight casts its silver glow upon his flawless face. “I can say the same for Fate.”</p><p>“Give me longer, Kun.” </p><p>“Time is not the only issue.” Kun looks at Sicheng, but there are no pupils, no irises. Just two blank, white orbs that stare emptily at him. “This is the first time we’ve tried something like this. They are worried that you are not up to the task.” </p><p>“Oh, I can do it, Kun.” Sicheng glares at him, then to the sky above, hoping that the <em>‘people upstairs” </em>see the fire in his eyes. “Trust me, I can. Just you wait.”</p><p>Sicheng turns, aggravation settling under his skin. He takes quick, long strides toward the stairwell, leaving his companion alone to bask under the moon. </p><p>“I sure hope so, dearest friend,” Kun says long after Sicheng has left, and only the moon can hear him now. “You’re going to need all the Chances you can get.”
</p><p>-</p><p>“Here,” Taeyong shoves an envelope in Doyoung’s face right before he walks out the door. “Happy Salary Day.” </p><p>“Not so happy if the next salary day could be my last,” Doyoung mutters. He looks inside the envelope and sighs. He evenly divides the money in half and gives one half back to Taeyong. “Take this.”</p><p>“What? Doie, I can’t—”</p><p>“Take it, or so help me <em>god.”</em> </p><p>Taeyong doesn’t look convinced, hands taking the money from Doyoung with more than an ounce of hesitance. “Half is barely enough for rent and food.”</p><p>“You need it more than I do,” Doyoung says softly. “I’ll spend less on groceries, and I still have enough saved for rent. It’s better to cut back on food now than starve later because I’m jobless.”</p><p>“I don’t deserve you,” Taeyong says, and Doyoung nods in agreement. “I’ll use this to buy us some ads and hopefully attract new customers. I’m sorry to say this but without more customers, half of your pay is barely going to do anything. Still, thank you, Doie.”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah, don’t worry about it. See you tomorrow, Yong.”</p><p>
Doyoung usually gets groceries on payday, so he gets off the bus one stop early, right in front of a grocery store. He counted his money on the bus, and going by his calculations, if he does a <em>lot</em> more saving this month, he might just get through to the next few without having to call in any favors.</p><p>Unfortunately, that meant that he would have to rely on a diet of instant noodles and biscuits for the coming weeks. </p><p>He’s in line at the cashier, patiently waiting for his turn, when his peace is disturbed.</p><p>“Is that what you’re having for dinner?”</p><p> </p><p>Doyoung startles, whipping around to face Jaehyun, who had a basket of vegetables and meat and other things Doyoung wishes he could afford right now. </p><p>“Uh, yeah, for the next couple of weeks. I’m kind of broke.” The cashier starts checking out Doyoung’s packs of instant noodles, eyeing it with barely concealed concern. “The bar’s not doing well.”</p><p>“Why don’t you come by tonight? I’ll cook for us both. You deserve more than shitty noodles and dry crackers.” </p><p>“Huh?” Doyoung sputters. “I wouldn’t want to impose.”</p><p>Jaehyun sighs, looking at Doyoung like he’s stupid. Doyoung probably is.</p><p>“Come on, Doyoung. You could never be an inconvenience to me. I’ll be glad to have you over.” Doyoung won’t be able to refuse, not when Jaehyun’s looking at him like <em>that,</em> with a slight pout and stupid sparkling eyes. </p><p>“Please?”</p><p>Doyoung sighs. “Alright,” he concedes, trying for a smile. “I’ll come over if you want me there so badly.”</p><p>“I do,” Jaehyun says, smiling like he just won the lottery. Doyoung doesn’t know if he should be flattered or worried.</p><p>“Take your flirting outside, there are customers in line,” grumbles the cashier, scoffing for good measure. “Young men these days,” she adds under her breath. </p><p>Doyoung and Jaehyun rush out of the shop with laughter bubbling up their throats, lest they want to incur the wrath of a disgruntled, middle-aged grocery registrar. </p><p>Together, they walk the city streets, more than comforted by each other’s presence.</p><p>-</p><p>“This is my place,” Jaehyun says, turning the keys to his apartment. It was located above the records store, and it smelled the same, felt the same, and every aspect just made Doyoung’s brain go <em>Jaehyun! Jaehyun! Jaehyun!</em></p><p>They shed their shoes at the door, and Jaehyun leads Doyoung to the kitchen to start with dinner. </p><p>“I was just going to fry beef and sautee some vegetables. Is that good enough for you?”</p><p>“Sounds better than any meal I’ve had the past few weeks,” Doyoung says honestly. “I live on a diet of McDonalds and instant noodles and whatever cheap frozen food I could find in the store.”</p><p>Jaehyun looks at Doyoung with concern. “That doesn’t sound healthy.”</p><p>“Well, I’m still alive,” Doyoung says. He tries to laugh but it comes out weak and sullen. “Somewhat.”</p><p>“Doyoung,” Jaehyun chastises. “Do you take care of yourself?”</p><p>Doyoung’s brows furrow. “Don’t mother me, Jaehyun. And yes, I do. Trust me. Times are just tough.”</p><p>Concern clouds Jaehyun’s face as he cuts the beef into smaller pieces. “I wish you’d have it easier.”</p><p>“Said every poor person ever.” </p><p>Then, after a moment, Jaehyun brings his knife down particularly hard against the chopping board. In the most serious tone he can muster, he says, “Eat the rich.” </p><p>Doyoung nods fervently. “Damn fucking right.”</p><p>“Can you cut these vegetables up while I fry the beef?” Jaehyun smiles like he’s got something up his sleeve. Doyoung narrows his eyes suspiciously as he walks over. “I’ll show you how to cut them.”</p><p>Doyoung positions himself parallel to the counter, Jaehyun hovering beside him.</p><p>“I know how to cut a carrot Jaehyun-”</p><p>Doyoung is silenced by how Jaehyun presses himself against Doyoung’s back, his hand guiding Doyoung’s to pick up the knife. </p><p>“You cut it,” Jaehyun whispers huskily against his ear, “Like this.” </p><p>Jaehyun’s hand eases pressure unto Doyoung’s, and the knife cuts a deepening slit into the stupid carrot.</p><p>Doyoung can no longer differentiate the sound of the knife edge hitting the cutting board and his heartbeat. All Doyoung can think of is Jaehyun’s hand against his, the way he’s so salaciously <em>whispering</em> instructions in his ear, the way the firmness of his chest is pressing against his back, the way his <em>lips</em> brush against the skin of Doyoung’s ear.</p><p>And just like that, it’s over. Jaehyun steps away, walking over to the stove, where a pan awaits him.</p><p>“Could you hand me the oil?” Jaehyun asks innocently, as if he hadn’t just tried to seduce Doyoung right then and there. He points at a yellow bottle on the counter. “It’s over there.”</p><p>“You are going to pay for your crimes, Jung Jaehyun,” Doyoung grumbles, giving him the bottle of oil. “Mark my words.”</p><p>Jaehyun laughs, light and cute unlike how he was just moments ago. “I’m looking forward to it.”</p><p>“You better.”</p><p>-</p><p>Dinner turns out to be a less stressful affair. In fact, it’s quite the contrary. Jaehyun had put on the record player a while earlier, and now Helen Reddy’s <em>‘And I Love You So’ </em>drifts through the air.</p><p>Jaehyun had insisted on turning off the lights in favor of a candle-lit dinner, all while bringing out a bottle of red wine. </p><p>They’d finished their food a while ago, and now they’re just basking in each other’s presence, slowly but surely draining the wine bottle of its contents.</p><p>“You’re such a romantic,” Doyoung says fondly. “That’s so endearing.”</p><p>Jaehyun smiles, his eyes disappearing into crescents. “You deserve the best dinners only.”</p><p><em>“You</em> are what makes this dinner special, not the candles or the wine, or the food. Although those <em>are </em>a well-appreciated bonus,” Doyoung says. Then, he feels compelled to be honest, to give the butterflies in his stomach a voice. So, he says,  “You’ve become very special to me, Jaehyun.”</p><p>“You to me as well. I care about you a <em>lot, </em>Doyoung.”</p><p>Doyoung sighs, more out of disbelief than anything else. “Isn’t this weird? We’ve known each other for just two months.”</p><p>“We’re taking our time,” Jaehyun says easily. “And so far it’s been alright.”</p><p>Doyoung hums contemplatively. The atmosphere, the mood, <em>Jaehyun, </em>if Doyoung thinks about it…</p><p>His breath catches as he realizes something.</p><p>“Is this,” Doyoung hesitates. “A date?”</p><p>Jaehyun looks at him with raised eyebrows. “Uh, yeah? It’s our second one though, the first was when you asked me out to eat at that restaurant down the street.”</p><p>Doyoung blanches. <em>“Second?”</em></p><p>“Yeah,” Even in the candlelight, Doyoung can see Jaehyun reddening. “Am I the only one who thinks of that as our first?” </p><p>“No,” Doyoung rushes out. “No, I just- wow, I am <em>so</em> stupid. That’s so cute, Jaehyun. <em>Jaehyun. </em>You’re so cute.”</p><p>Jaehyun makes a sound that Doyoung can confidently call a giggle. “You’re cuter.”</p><p>Doyoung takes that moment to stare at Jaehyun shamelessly, committing to mind each part of his face, because the candlelight makes him look <em>so</em> fucking pretty.</p><p>“Would you want to keep me company over the holidays?” Doyoung asks after mustering his courage.</p><p>Jaehyun had ventured into the other room to switch out the record on the player, and now he settled back into his seat with a calm smile. </p><p>The holidays are soon, and Doyoung usually takes his annual one week leave a week before Christmas. He’s spent all his Christmases in the city alone, and the thought of being with someone else this time around makes him feel warm. The thought of that someone potentially being <em>Jaehyun</em> makes him feel warmer. </p><p>“I’m usually alone, and making the trip to my parents isn’t such a friendly prospect at this time of the year.”</p><p>“Oh,” Jaehyun’s face sours. “I’m <em>really</em> sorry, Doyoung, I can’t. It’s my first year away from my father. We usually spend the holidays together, and I miss him. I really wish I could stay with you.”</p><p>“That’s alright,” Doyoung says, not as disappointed as he’d expected. “You go on home to your father. Perhaps it’s finally time I visit my parents too.” </p><p>They spend the rest of the night chatting quietly, and they spend it together until the bottle of red wine has been drunk to its last drop. </p><p>Drowned in candlelight, serenaded by beautiful music, and with Jaehyun across from him, Doyoung decides that there’s nowhere else he’d rather be. </p><p>-</p><p>Doyoung’s at the bus stop one day, wrapped in all his thickest clothing. Snow started falling last night, and the roads are lightly dusted in white. The records store is closed, the lights are turned off, and it seems so utterly abandoned without Jaehyun milling around inside stacking records and dusting shelves. There is, however, someone coming out of the entrance, a tall man who keys the store shut and crosses the street.</p><p>Curiosity piqued, Doyoung makes eye contact with the man and wonders if he should strike up a conversation. The man, however, beats him to the punch, greeting Doyoung as soon as he sets foot on the sidewalk.</p><p>
“You must be the infamous Doyoung,” he says, extending a gloved hand for Doyoung to shake. Doyoung does so hesitantly. “I’m Johnny, Jaehyun’s friend. He asked me to watch the shop while he’s gone.”
</p><p>“Oh, he’s never mentioned you,” Doyoung says, voice quieting.</p><p>“Don’t worry,” Johnny laughs. Just then, the bus pulls up to the stop. “We’re just buddies. Jaehyun’s hot but I’d never hit on him. Are you catching this bus too?”</p><p>Doyoung nods. Johnny is all smiles and it’s a little blinding. Doyoung doesn’t know how exactly to feel about Johnny, but he’s leaning towards something good. Something about Johnny sets him at ease. </p><p>“Jaehyun is obsessed with you, you know,” Johnny says nonchalantly once they’d settled down. “He loves talking about you. You must be someone really special.”</p><p>“I’d hope so,” Doyoung says, laughing half-heartedly. “Otherwise, things would be awkward.”</p><p>“Oh, I’m sure you are. He also asked me to look after you if I can, and I didn’t know how to do that, and that seemed a bit mothering, doesn’t it? So I refused. I told him you’re a grown man and that he can trust you to take care of yourself just as you can trust him to take care of himself.” </p><p>“That’s very considerate of him, and of you, thank you. I mind a little, but I think I understand. He’s probably used to looking after his loved ones.”</p><p>Johnny turns to him, his carefree aura dampened by a sense of seriousness. “He is. I assume you two are close enough for you to know this, so I’ll just tell you. His mother divorced his father. Old man was a mess. Jaehyun looked after his father more than his father looked after him. He’s become used to being depended on, so here’s a little advice. Jaehyun doesn’t seem like the type of person to depend on others, but he’s the one who needs it the most. So be that person for him, hm?”</p><p>Doyoung nods. “Thank you, Johnny. You’re a good friend.”</p><p>“I know I am.” Johnny smiles. “So, you write your own music?”</p><p>“Yeah, I perform them at a bar near downtown.”</p><p>They drift off into an easy conversation, and Doyoung finds that he leaves the bus having learned a few new things about Jaehyun, and having earned a new friend. He’s setting up inside when he receives a text. </p><p>
  <em>Johnny Seo</em>
</p><p>take care. you’re a superstar!</p><p>
  <em>Me</em>
</p><p>@.@</p><p>-</p><p>The holidays started about a week ago, and Jaehyun had officially closed the store for as long as he’s gone, leaving it in the care of his good (only) friend, Johnny. Johnny had been a childhood acquaintance, and it was purely by Coincidence that they came across each other in the city so long after they parted. </p><p>Jaehyun had hardly expected the lanky, tall boy from the countryside to be so seamlessly attuned to the city life. </p><p>Jaehyun had always favored the countryside. It’s quiet, it’s simple, and he has more than enough time to sort out all his thoughts. Of course, the city had its perks (perks being Doyoung and Doyoung only) but it’s good to have some time to himself. Distance makes the heart grow fonder, doesn’t it?</p><p>Jaehyun’s been back at home for two days now, and as he watches the sunrise from the porch, he can’t help but feel content. His fingers are wrapped around a cup of coffee, and they tingle from the heat.</p><p>The front door creaks, with all its aged wood and rusted metal bolts. The rocking chair beside Jaehyun gives its own good creak as its owner settles into it.</p><p>“Morning, dad,” Jaehyun says, voice still raw with sleep. He smiles when a calloused hand ruffles his hair. </p><p>Jung Jiho is a man who clearly aged with grace. The years don’t show through the few lines on his face, his skin only lightly blemished by time. The only indication that he’d been aging at all is the way he moves carefully, as if any sudden movement could pop one of his joints. </p><p>“It’s good to be back in the countryside, isn’t it? Good to breathe the fresh air and return to simple life,” Jiho muses. Jaehyun hums as his father scans the horizon with jaded eyes. “Does the city make you lonely?”</p><p>“No, not as lonely as I was when I first arrived, so you don’t have to worry anymore.” Jaehyun debates telling his father about Doyoung, and he decides that it’s better to just get it over with sooner than later. “I found someone to accompany me. A man.”</p><p>The silence that follows becomes thicker with each second, and Jaehyun feels as if his heart is being squeezed slowly until it stops pumping blood. His father had never taken kindly to his preferences. Jaehyun came out to him more than a decade ago, and he can only hope that Time did a good job at taming his father’s prejudice. </p><p>“That’s good,” Jiho says after a while. “Loneliness can kill.” </p><p>
Jaehyun chances a tentative glance at him. “You’re not bothered by it?”</p><p>There’s a long pause of silence - and it drags on until the sun’s risen a little higher and Jaehyun’s coffee has gone cold. </p><p>“After your mother left me, I had a lot of time to think. I asked myself why she did it, spent nights clawing my mind for answers, and I realized that it might’ve been my fault.”</p><p>Jaehyun looks at him, not daring to speak because he’s going to agree.</p><p>“I was never a good husband,” he says quietly. “I wasn’t kind to her. I treated her as if she was some maid. I can’t blame her for leaving me, I’d have done the same thing if I were in her shoes. I made a lot of mistakes, Jaehyun, and I ended up losing the only person who was willing to spend twenty and more years with me. I think I’ve done enough wrong. You’re the only family I have now, I can’t risk losing you too.”</p><p>Jaehyun’s father sighs, a sound ridden with years’ worth of regret. “I don’t care who you choose to be with, as long as you’re happy. As long as my son is happy. I hope it’s not too late for you to forgive me?”</p><p>Jaehyun diverts his eyes to the ceiling, trying to keep in the tears that threaten to escape. He’s thankful for the stark cold that dries the wetness blurring his sight. </p><p>“Never too late,” Jaehyun says shakily, and Jiho smiles with watery eyes, gulping down his coffee.  </p><p>“I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” </p><p>There are birds perched upon the tree branches, and they chirp their birdsong and brighten the day.</p><p>“I think I’m falling in love, dad,” Jaehyun says some time later, a mere whisper. He doesn’t receive a response, not immediately, and Jaehyun starts to think that his father didn’t hear him at all.</p><p>But then, in that scruffy, indifferent way of his, Jiho says “Must be a pretty boy.”</p><p>Jaehyun laughs. “You’re right. He <em>is</em> pretty, both inside and outside. I’ll bring him over someday so you can meet him. His name is Doyoung, and you’re going to <em>love</em> him.”</p><p>-</p><p>Another week passes in no time, and Jaehyun’s rather enjoying being back home. He’s sent Doyoung a few messages ever since he arrived, but he only got replies for the first few. He stopped receiving replies a few days ago. Worry buries itself in Jaehyun’s gut, like an incessant critter gnawing at his insides, and he almost gives into the temptation of pulling his phone out and dialling Doyoung’s number, but he remembers what Johnny said. </p><p>Doyoung can take care of himself. </p><p>Jaehyun chooses to assume that Doyoung is simply preoccupied, and he’ll get back in touch when he can. Jaehyun exhales, shifting his thoughts to the matter at hand.</p><p>Today’s agenda is shopping. </p><p>His father had taken him to the town center, a tiny place where shops and kiosks lined the already narrow streets. To Jaehyun, this place is home, and if he tries hard enough he can barely see the ghosts of his past dancing around the pillars and street signs.</p><p>They’re walking down a familiar street when his father breaks their comfortable silence.</p><p>“What’s there to think so hard about, hm?”</p><p>Jaehyun looks at his dad, dragged out of his thoughts for a moment. “I’m thinking of getting Doyoung a gift. I already bought Johnny those snacks he loves so much, but I can’t think of what to get Doyoung.” </p><p>“What does he like?”</p><p>“Well,” Jaehyun wracks his brain for all the information he has about Doyoung. “He’s into music, first and foremost, but I think getting him a new instrument is too much. I’m definitely getting him records, but those aren’t enough. And he once talked about how he needed new guitar strings but that’s nothing special.”</p><p>“He’ll appreciate it even if it’s nothing special, because it came from <em>you.”</em> his father says, shaking his head fondly. “God, you remind me of myself when I was trying to court your mother. I courted her by buying her all these nice things, but what really won her over is the silver ring I gave her on our three month anniversary. It wasn’t worth much, but her eyes shined when she saw it.”</p><p>“Do you think I can get us a matching pair of rings?”</p><p>“You can get a pair custom made at this place I know. I’ll take you there myself.”</p><p>Jaehyun’s starting to like this idea more and more. “Thank you, Dad.”</p><p>-</p><p>It took a while for the rings to get finished, and Jaehyun and his father took that opportunity to eat at some of the places Jaehyun had grown up eating in. He saw familiar faces that had weathered with the sands of time, and wondered curiously about the new ones he didn’t recognize. </p><p>The taste of home brought back a flood of memories that made him feel a bit of everything. Nostalgia, bouts of sadness, droplets of joy, and all else in between. It was sunset by the time they came back home, and right now Jaehyun’s sitting cross-legged on his bed. With careful fingers he unwraps the ribbon around the velvet black box in his hand, and he gasps lightly when he pulls the lid open.</p><p>Two rings shine under the dull light of his room, two bands of pristine silver that mirrored his reflection seamlessly. One of them was crowned with the small image of a record, the other with a musical note.</p><p>It may seem tacky to some, but Jaehyun thinks the rings are rather cute. With a content smile, he closes the box, wraps the ribbon around it once more, and prepares for a good night’s sleep. His mind wanders to many things, but mostly he can’t stop thinking about how wide Doyoung will smile when he receives Jaehyun’s gifts.</p><p>-</p><p>Jaehyun is dragged out of sleep by his phone ringing rudely against his ear, although seeing the caller ID is enough to fully wake him up.</p><p>“Doyoung? Are you alright?”</p><p>The static on the other side is deafening, and judging by the harshly blowing wind, Doyoung must be at some rooftop or balcony.</p><p>“Jaehyun,” Doyoung says, voice a mere croak. He sounds as if he’s choking back a cry, as if speaking above a whisper is dangerous business. “I’m sorry, it’s just, I didn’t know who else to call, and-”</p><p>“Doyoung,” Jaehyun repeats firmly, sitting up. “Are you alright?”</p><p>Jaehyun doesn’t receive a reply immediately. In fact, he almost starts drifting off before Doyoung speaks again.</p><p>“It’s my father, he’s getting worse. I feel like I’m going insane, and I just needed someone to talk to.” There’s a sniffle from the other side. “Please don’t hang up.”</p><p>By then, Jaehyun’s already getting dressed. “I’m coming.”</p><p>A pause. “What? Jaehyun, it’s too far-”</p><p>“I said I’m <em>coming.</em> Send me your location. And I’m not hanging up. Where are you right now?” Jaehyun packs a bag with enough clothes for several nights, in anticipation of a long stay. Jaehyun’s phone chimes with a notification.</p><p>“I sent you the address. I’m on the rooftop, it’s the only place where I feel like I can breathe.” </p><p>“Okay, hold on, keep yourself warm and wait for me.” </p><p>Silence. Then, “Hurry.”</p><p>- </p><p>Doyoung had moved from the rooftop a while ago. Even his thick skin couldn’t withstand the cold until Jaehyun arrived. He’s curled up in one of the lobby’s cold, metal benches when a warm hand pushes a steaming cup of tea into his fingers.</p><p>Doyoung looks up at Jaehyun, who very much looks like he just crossed the countryside and several circles of hell just to get here. Jaehyun settles down beside him, and Doyoung’s already thankful for the warmth seeping off of him. </p><p>“You really didn’t have to come all the way here,” Doyoung says, warming his throat with the tea. </p><p>“I didn’t come all this way for you to tell me I didn’t have to,” and although the words have bite, Jaehyun says it so softly that Doyoung can only revel in his voice. “I want to be here for you, okay? Now you look like you haven’t had any sleep, so <em>sleep.”</em></p><p>“Huh?”</p><p>“Right here,” Jaehyun pats his own shoulder. “Come on, you’re no good to yourself or to anyone when sleep-deprived.”</p><p>A gentle hand guides Doyoung’s head down onto Jaehyun’s soft, cushioned shoulder, and quicker than he thinks, he drifts off to nothingness, and whatever turmoil raged in his mind was soothed by a distant heartbeat that wasn’t his own.</p><p>-</p><p>“It’s been five years since he got diagnosed,” Doyoung says. “They moved him to the retirement home around the same time I left for the city.”</p><p>They’re outside, in a place where the trees don’t quite block out the sun, but the sun doesn’t quite reach past the cover of clouds. The grass and soil are buried under snow, and branches serve as perches only to chirping birds and a few determined leaves.  </p><p>The pair are sitting at a wooden bench that overlooks a frozen lake. </p><p>It boggles Doyoung how nature can look so dead and be so alive, so similar to how a person can teeter towards lifelessness and still be wide-eyed.</p><p>“It ate away at his memories first, in a way that you’d easily let pass. Then it got more common, and he started forgetting relatives’ birthdays, then anniversaries, then he’d even forget the faces of his colleagues and friends. Then he lost the valuable memories, the ones he once treasured,” Doyoung exhales a shaky breath. “Mother might as well have been dying with him. If only you could see how miserable she looks every time she leaves his room. He doesn’t even know who she is anymore.”</p><p>“Have you been to see him?”</p><p>“No,” Doyoung admits with a pitiful chuckle. He looks at Jaehyun with a mirthless smile. “I’m too scared that he might not remember me at all. If he doesn’t remember mother how can he remember me?”</p><p>He drags the back of his hand against his face. Doyoung is so, <em>so</em> tired of shedding his tears. But what else can he do?</p><p>“You have to be brave,” Jaehyun says, quiet yet firm. “You have a chance to see him before he goes.”</p><p>“I know. I just, I don’t know, I need someone to be there with me. I’m sorry-”</p><p>“You don’t need to apologize, you’re not inconveniencing me.” Jaehyun hesitates, but decides to take one of Doyoung’s hands in his. “I’ll come with you if you want.”</p><p>“I’d appreciate it.”</p><p>The walk to the room was unlike anything Doyoung had ever experienced. His feet seemed to get heavier the closer they became, but Jaehyun was there to push him gently forward, to reassure him with light touches.</p><p>When Doyoung opens the door, he sees his father first. He’s old, the lines on his face just slightly deeper since the last time Doyoung saw him. He looks mostly the same, but Doyoung knows that inside, nothing is recognizable.  Doyoung’s mother sits across from his father on an identical chair, and together they’re sat beside a wide window that let the dull sunlight flood the room in grey light.</p><p>“Dongyoung,” his mother sits up in mild surprise, and her eyebrows rise higher when she sees Jaehyun lingering over his shoulder. Then, softly, she says,  “Keep your voices down, your father reacts badly to noise.”</p><p>Doyoung’s mother is an astute woman, her silver hair always up in a bun. Her eyes, however scarred they may seem, gaze kindly upon her son especially. She extends a wrinkled hand toward Doyoung, and he nestles his hand in hers with more than a little trepidation, and he lets himself be guided to his father’s side.</p><p>“Father,” Doyoung whispers. Now that he’s here, he can’t think of what to say. “It’s me, Doyoung. I’m your son, remember?”</p><p>His father’s eyes scan blankly over him, and over the other people in the room. Doyoung feels a tear streak down his cheek. He hastily wipes it away before his father could see. </p><p>“Dongyoungie.”</p><p>It’s barely coherent, barely anything if Doyoung didn’t recognize his own name. He looks up at his father’s blank face, hopeful. A hand comes up to his face, cold, shrivelled fingers feeling out his features. Doyoung rests his hand against his father’s.</p><p>He calls out a second time, and Doyoung can’t stop the tears by then.</p><p>“Yeah,” Doyoung breathes. “It’s me, dad. Your Dongyoungie.”</p><p>Doyoung smiles, and it’s out of genuine joy. For the moment, for the barest second, it washes over the sadness, the grief, the frustration. If only for the tiniest fracture of time, the bitterness is swallowed by relief, and all the ugly feelings inside him are disregarded. Because now Doyoung knows that despite the suffering his father has been through, despite how he’s completely shattered into pieces of a puzzle that can never be put together again, despite how most of his function has ceased, he’s still the man Doyoung grew up with. </p><p>In that moment, it’s as if Time stops, and Doyoung comes to terms with the demons that have haunted him for the past years.  </p><p>Illness is ugly.</p><p>Seeing your father fall apart is ugly.</p><p>Dealing with sickness, be it as a family or as an individual, is ugly.</p><p>Doyoung wouldn’t wish it upon anyone, wouldn’t ever hope for anyone else to be so viciously scarred by the circumstance he’s in right now. He wouldn’t ever want anyone to experience the suffering he and his family endured for years. </p><p> But Doyoung chooses to treasure the good parts, because he has no other option.</p><p>It’s like staring someone else’s Death in the eye but choosing to cherish their Life instead. </p><p>It’s finding comfort and having Faith in the fact that his father is still himself, granted that he’s just buried far, far down where no one can see him. Faith in the fact that he’ll move onto somewhere better when the storms make way for clear skies and calm seas.</p><p>A hand settles on Doyoung’s back, and he lets himself be guided out to collect himself. </p><p>“I’m proud of you,” Jaehyun says, cradling Doyoung in his arms. If the other man minds the way Doyoung was soaking his clothes with his tears, he doesn’t say anything. “You did really well in there.” </p><p>It takes some time for Doyoung to calm down, and the hallways are darkening by then with the imminent fall of night. </p><p>“They usually feed him by this time,” Doyoung’s mother says to them. “They usually have me in there to calm him down when they try to make him eat, but I think it’d be better if you went in there instead.”</p><p>First there’s fear again, but it’s an instinct, and Doyoung tries his best to overcome it. </p><p>Jaehyun moves to stand up. “Do you want me to come with you?”</p><p>Doyoung shakes his head. “I can do this alone.”</p><p>Jaehyun smiles at him, squeezing his hand for reassurance. Doyoung disappears into the room not a moment later, followed by a caregiver holding a tray of food.</p><p>“I’m Eunjoo,” Doyoung’s mother says, sitting on the bench across the aisle. “You seem to have caught our Dongyoung’s eye.”</p><p>“I’m glad I did,” Jaehyun says, far too tired to filter his words. He hasn’t slept since he arrived. “You son is a gem, ma’am.”</p><p>“I’m thankful you think so. No one ever paid attention to him when he was younger.”</p><p>Jaehyun tries not to be too surprised. “That’s… weird to hear.”</p><p>“Right? His handsomeness is unique. Not a lot of people see it.” Eunjoo laughs, a delicate sound. When she smiles, she smiles with her gums the way Doyoung’s does. “Anyway, thank you for coming. I’ve gotten far too weak to hold both our burdens up on my shoulders.”</p><p>“It’s really no problem. I don’t think of Doyoung and his struggles as a burden. He needed someone to support him so I’m here.” </p><p>“I think he’s in good hands then. I know the city can get lonely-”</p><p>“I’ll do my best to take care of him,” Jaehyun interrupts gently. “But Doyoung is tough all on his own too. He’s more than capable of taking care of himself.” </p><p>Eunjoo smiles, only nodding in agreement. “So how did you two meet?”</p><p>“Well,” Jaehyun starts, a smile spreading across his face. “It was a Coincidence, really.”</p><p>-</p><p>Doyoung and Jaehyun had retired to a nearby motel that Eunjoo had been staying at the past few months, and Eunjoo was chummy enough with the owners that they got a discount. </p><p>The two quickly take turns in washing away the aches of the day, and Jaehyun has never been more glad to be settled under a warm blanket. There’d been two separate beds, but Doyoung had asked if they could put the two together, and Jaehyun could never refuse a sleepy Doyoung, so they did. </p><p>“Good night, Doyoung,” Jaehyun says, making himself comfortable under the covers, his voice deep and husky.</p><p>“Night,” comes the quiet reply, muffled by a pillow. </p><p>And sleep came to claim them both. </p><p>Doyoung awakes to a knock on the door long before sunrise. </p><p>What follows is a daze.</p><p>Doyoung remembers walking to the door, sleep-addled and unsteady.</p><p>He remembers turning the knob to see his mother’s grief-stricken face, and the words that fall out of her mouth that sound like jargon. He remembers the ride to the retirement home, and remembers Jaehyun’s hands attempting to console him. He remembers the way the hallways were colder than before. He remembers how the shadows seemed to stretch out to him like some scornful creatures of the night.</p><p>-</p><p>Eunjoo holds a decorated ceramic urn in her hands, so delicate and careful. Her fingers rest around it lightly, as if afraid that a single careless touch can crack its fine surface.  </p><p>“I think by now we’ve said all that needed to be said,” Eunjoo says, hands dabbing at her moist cheeks. “Jonghoon was never a fan of words anyway. He was never good at them the way his Dongyoungie is. The best way to honor his memory is simply to live and never forget him. My dearest husband,” she takes a fistful of ash in her hand. “We’ll forever keep you in our hearts.”</p><p>She throws the dust into the air, and it’s scattered by the cool breeze that blows past them.</p><p>Sicheng watches the ordeal with lonely eyes. Even Yuta could see that much.</p><p>“Poor Doyoung,” Sicheng says, voice laced with pity. “He’s going to carry this with him forever.”</p><p>Yuta hesitates before he speaks. “It was meant to happen.”</p><p>Sicheng’s head whips toward him. “You knew?”</p><p>“I told you,” Yuta sighs. “I’m Fate, I know everything.”</p><p>“Even now, you sound like a self-absorbed prick. Have some tact,” Sicheng spits. “You knew about this and you didn’t tell me?”</p><p>Yuta’s eyes dance around Sicheng, never really landing on him. The coward was avoiding his gaze. </p><p>“And if I told you-”</p><p>“I could have done something!” Something in Sicheng snaps, like a bomb detonating, like a dam breaking. <em>“You. </em>You could have done something. So what, you can save an old woman on a street corner but you can’t save this man’s father?”</p><p>Yuta glares at the ground. “It’s not like that.”</p><p>Sicheng scoffs. “Bullshit. You may be Fate, but you’re not all powerful. You might as well be useless. Don’t bother running away this time, I’ll leave before you.”  </p><p>-</p><p>It’s been weeks since Jonghoon passed. </p><p>Doyoung has been getting better. </p><p>He remembers to call his mom more often. Doyoung knows she’s lonelier now that she doesn’t have anyone to look after. Not a caregiver to engage with in casual conversation, no receptionist to greet her good morning. Doyoung’s trying to fill in the gaping holes that need to be occupied for things to stay relatively fine. </p><p>He’s been doing good so far, especially since he’s had Jaehyun to help him.</p><p>The kitchen in Doyoung’s apartment wafts with the smell of stew. Today is special because Jaehyun is coming over. The doorbell rings just as Doyoung turns off the stove.</p><p>Doyoung’s already smiling before he even reaches the door.</p><p>“I brought wine,” Jaehyun says as soon as the door swings open. “It’s the kind you like.”</p><p>“You know my tastes best. Can you set the table? I’ll have the food ready in a moment.” </p><p>Jaehyun follows Doyoung into the kitchen to fetch the plates and cutlery. He makes a sound of approval once he enters the room. “Smells amazing.”</p><p>“I know,” Doyoung says, satisfied. “I think I got the recipe right this time.”</p><p>Lunch was pleasant. Having the record player run during meals is practically tradition at this point. Doyoung cleans the table up and Jaehyun washes the dishes, and it’s well into the afternoon when Jaehyun coaxes Doyoung into the living room for a ‘surprise’.</p><p>“What is it?” Doyoung asks, curiosity mixing with anticipation. “I think I’m a little opposed to surprises. They make me feel, I don’t know, squirmy.”</p><p>Jaehyun laughs, a soft sound. “You’re going to like it, I promise.”</p><p>
Jaehyun pulls something out from the bag he brought with him, and Doyoung stares at the items in his hand. A tripod and a camera. </p><p>“I don’t understand,” Doyoung says unsurely.</p><p>“We’re going to do something cute and soft, something that will lift the spirits. We’re going to make a cover!”
</p><p>Doyoung falters. It was an odd idea, at least to him, but when Jaehyun’s smiling like that, it’s impossible to refuse. “Alright. I’m camera-shy though.”</p><p>“We won’t show our faces so you’re all good. Not that you should be ashamed of your face.” Doyoung blushes. “Can I borrow your guitar?” </p><p>Jaehyun’s already off in search for the instrument before Doyoung could even grant him permission, and Doyoung smiles to himself. Jaehyun’s like a kid when he’s excited, all smiley and unable to stay still for a second. </p><p>“This is the song, I think you know it. I heard you listening to it a few times,” Jaehyun says when he comes back, giving Doyoung his phone. Doyoung’s eyes scan over the lyrics, and there’s something blooming in his chest, a feeling warm as a pink sunrise and delicate as a candle flame. He wants nothing more than to cherish it. </p><p>Doyoung nitpicks about his posture and the creases on his clothes that look out of place, but Jaehyun placates him with a gentle hand, and Doyoung stills. Singing is easier, natural even, and Doyoung finds that he doesn’t have much to worry about when it’s like this. There are no eyes digging into every part of him, no distraction, not anything. It’s just Jaehyun beside him and the steady sound of the guitar. </p><p>
  <em>You said to believe it.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>But this time, I know that you mean it,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>‘Cause boy I’m just a loser</em>
</p><p><em>For your love.</em> </p><p>It’s what happens afterwards that Doyoung treasures the most.</p><p>Jaehyun’s fingers slowly stop playing on the strings, and Doyoung just <em>can’t</em> stop staring at him.</p><p>It’s there again - the feeling in his chest. Blooming, bleeding, like color on a blank canvas, like morning chasing out the dark night sky. It’s subtle at first, a mild sweetness that was unsettling. But then it grew fiercer, from hearth to wildfire, from rain to thunderstorm, and Doyoung’s heart beats louder than a thousand drums - </p><p>and it just comes.</p><p>Something warm and soft pressing against his mouth.</p><p>Doyoung’s eyes snap shut, and it ends in a second.</p><p>His chest rises and falls with <em>so much</em> emotion, far too much to express in words, so his mouth just hangs open as he stares at a red-tinted Jaehyun with wide eyes. But then Doyoung wants <em>more,</em> and greedily he shuffles closer to Jaehyun, frantically closing the distance between them until they’re kissing again - willingly, hungrily, unrestrained by uncertainty and so, <em>so</em> full of surety because this is what they both want. </p><p>All Doyoung could remember is Jaehyun’s hand on his jaw, Jaehyun’s hair in between his fingers, and the feeling of being in full-bloom at a Friday afternoon in a shitty apartment in the middle of the city - and Doyoung wouldn’t have it any other way.</p><p>“I’ll have to edit that out,” Jaehyun says later, lying beside Doyoung in his bed with his laptop balanced on his chest. It’s night by now, and the record player is running as the last of the sun sinks behind the horizon. “I doubt my viewers would like to watch five minutes of us making out.”</p><p>
A certain<em> sound</em> comes from Jaehyun’s laptop, and Doyoung feels himself go red. “You didn’t turn off the camera?” </p><p>“I was busy,” Jaehyun smiles, and his smile is the last thing Doyoung sees before he’s whisked off to a peaceful dreamland.  </p><p>-</p><p>There’s a hiking trail that overlooks the city, and Yuta’s gotten quite fond of watching the sunrise from here. Sicheng doesn’t intend to make this morning particularly pleasant for him, however. </p><p>“Learned your lesson?”</p><p>
Yuta glares at Sicheng. “Why do you keep lecturing me?”</p><p>“So you haven’t,” Sicheng decides, eyes drilling holes into the side of Yuta’s head. “Can’t you get it through that thick head of yours? Until now, you don’t know what it is that makes you so insufferable?”</p><p>“You seem to know, so why don’t you tell me?”</p><p>Sicheng considers his words for a moment. “You’re only Fate, not god.”</p><p>
“What is that supposed to mean?” </p><p>“Fate and coincidence aren’t absolute. We’re just things people call upon to justify something they didn’t expect. We’re just fancy names for mistakes and accidents and things that seem to just fit together. You think you’re so powerful,” Sicheng spits, and he can’t restrain the venom that drips into his voice. “You think you’re above everything because you’re fate, but do you know what the truth is? You’re just as meaningless as any passed up chance or minute coincidence.”</p><p>Yuta diverts his eyes to the distant horizon, his face contorted in disbelief and incredulity and all these wicked things that don’t deserve to taint him. </p><p>“You’re wrong,” he says, more to himself than anyone else. “There must be a reason. There’s a reason why <em>I </em>am fate. There is, I know it. Of all the people in this world, I alone am good enough to be fate.”</p><p>“Quite the opposite, really,” Sicheng says, and Yuta meets his gaze with eyes aflame. Sicheng hesitates for a moment, his hand lingering over the hem of his coat. But he reaches inside nonetheless, pulling out a black folder that he gives to Yuta. “Take it.”</p><p>“What is this?” </p><p>Yuta stops at what he sees. His eyes scan over the contents of the file, growing more and more bewildered with each second.</p><p>“Nakamoto Yuta.” The name feels foreign on Sicheng’s tongue, as if it wasn’t his to say. “That was your name before you were fate. You were a living, breathing person once.”</p><p>“That can’t be.”</p><p>“You were born with a disease called muscular dystrophy. It dragged you down your entire life, it hung off of you like some kind of terrible curse. Yet, you kept living past their predictions. They said you only had until 18, at most, but you lived until you were 29. Do you know what you thought in your final moments? <em>What a hideous trick of fate.</em> You resented Fate for doing that to you. Because of all the people in the world - it was <em>you</em> who had to live that life. And now… Here you are.”</p><p>The file has long been discarded, and now Yuta roils like a brooding thunderstorm, so volatile, so ready to explode. </p><p>“For what it’s worth, you aren’t measured by the sum of your parts, or by the strength in your bones, or the illness you carry in your blood. It’s the fire in your eyes that refuses to go out, that brazed determination - that’s what makes you who you are. It’s the courage to wake up everyday and face the pity in everyone’s eyes. It’s the love you have for the people you care about. It’s your strength, your <em>weakness,</em> the ugly parts and the good parts. Your talent, your soul.” </p><p>“What do you gain from telling me this?” Yuta says, voice small.</p><p>“Nothing,” Sicheng says simply. It is the truth. “But you have everything to gain from it. You have to accept that you aren’t the all-powerful being you think you are. Accept that fate is cruel, that fate can be kind, that fate doesn’t always rest in your hands. When you do-” Sicheng chokes. <em>“When you do,</em> you can be free. You can be <em>free.</em> So please, believe it- believe it even if you don’t want to. Please.”</p><p>Yuta looks at Sicheng’s face and probably sees the cracks in that cold mask of his - sees the desperation. </p><p>“Alright,” Yuta says, feet kicking mindlessly at the loose soil beneath him. “I believe it. Fate is cruel,” Yuta’s taking steps toward him, and Sicheng holds his ground. “Fate is <em>kind.</em> Fate doesn’t rest in my hands. Fate is fucking <em>unfair.</em> Fate is the worst fantasy mankind ever dreamed up for themselves. Fate is a coward. Fate is no one’s, not even mine. I forgive Fate even if he doesn’t deserve to be forgiven.”</p><p>Yuta was so close, and his breath fanned over Sicheng’s face in aggressive huffs. There are tears streaming down his face, and Sicheng can only bring a hand up to wipe them away. Yuta doesn’t shy away from his touch, instead staring at him with all that ferocity in his eyes, almost begging to be touched or held, anything.</p><p>When Sicheng indulges, when he wraps his arms around Yuta, it’s as if Fate himself had just come undone. Yuta melts in his embrace, and they both fall to the ground, with Sicheng on his knees being the only thing keeping Yuta upright. A steady stream of sobs rack Yuta’s body, and Sicheng holds on tight because they’re on borrowed time.</p><p>And then, there was silence.</p><p>Sicheng’s arms are empty within a second, and there’s only cold air in the space Yuta had been in. </p><p>Sicheng cries. </p><p>Footsteps come from behind him. </p><p>“You succeeded.” It’s Kun’s voice, gentle yet emotionless. “You did well, Fate.”</p><p><em>“Fate,”</em> Sicheng says spitefully. It is his name. His own. “Fate is cruel.”</p><p>-</p><p><em>“I need you to give me a chance,” Sicheng begs- </em>Fate<em> begs. Fate never begs. </em></p><p>
  <em>Kun stares at him with those empty eyes of his. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Please,” Sicheng continues. “He- he didn’t even get to live! He resents me for it, and I need to make it up to him. He needs another chance at life. He needs another chance to live the way he wants!”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Fate chooses no sides. Chooses no one. That is the law of the universe. Why do you favor this man?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Sicheng almost growls out of frustration. “Fuck the law. Fate doesn’t need to be cruel or unfair or wicked. People don’t need to resent fate. We have the power to make things better, why not do it? Kun?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Very well. If you really want him to live again, he must pass a test to prove that he is worthy.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Sicheng’s face lights up. “Anything.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Make Nakamoto Yuta forgive Fate.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>-</em>
</p><p>“It’s unfair, isn’t it?” Sicheng sits at one end of a bench, Kun at another. “I am Fate, and you are… whatever you are. We end and start and manipulate life, and yet we can’t <em>live</em> life.” </p><p>There’s a long period of silence. </p><p>“Because Yuta was able to forgive, this means that both he and <em>you</em> passed the test. The Four have agreed that you deserve a reward.”</p><p>“What?” </p><p>Sicheng stares into those white, pupil-less eyes. </p><p>“You can have anything. If you so choose, you can be reincarnated as well.”</p><p>-</p><p>
  <strong>3 Months Later</strong>
</p><p>Neo 127 has never been better. </p><p>Doyoung snakes through the crowd outside the entrance, making his way past the line of people who want to get in. It’s already packed inside, and he makes his way to the back room to prep. Taeyong had changed his hair color to a bright bubblegum pink, and Doyoung finds him already pouring several drinks over at the bar, and he waves at Doyoung with a bottle of vodka in hand. </p><p>Doyoung stops by to grab a drink before his first set, and he notices a new face helping Taeyong out with the drinks.</p><p>“By the way,” Taeyong starts, yelling over Lady Gaga music. “I had to hire another bartender since the customers are becoming a handful. Several handfuls. This is Sicheng! He part-times here now.”</p><p>Sicheng nods at Doyoung, and Doyoung can only smile. Sicheng is all sharp lines and austerity - he pours drinks in a less flashy way than Taeyong. He lacks all the wildness Taeyong exudes, and yet he doesn’t get drowned out. There’s something about him that Doyoung just can’t put his finger on. </p><p>His mind is effectively shifted to other places when Jaehyun chooses to arrive at that moment, planting a wet kiss on Doyoung’s cheek as a greeting. Taeyong coos as he mixes a cocktail in his shaker. Sicheng only raises a thick eyebrow. </p><p>Jaehyun settles into the seat beside Doyoung. “You ready?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Doyoung replies easily, downing his drink. He notices Jaehyun smiling at him. “What?”</p><p>“Look at you, all relaxed and shit. You’ve come so far. I’m so proud of you.”</p><p>“Don’t make me emotional right before my first set! But thanks,” Doyoung takes Jaehyun’s hand in his, squeezing it out of habit. “Watch me well.”</p><p>“You know I will.”</p><p>The bar’s success is owed mainly to Jaehyun and his following. Doyoung had filmed that cover with him all those months ago, and neither of them expected it to go as viral as it did. Jaehyun didn’t miss the opportunity to ride the high and promote the bar, and ever since then, nights have been <em>packed.</em> The tips alone every night are more than most of the salaries he’s received in his life. You’d be surprised at how much money old, rich, lonely people are willing to give as tips. </p><p>Doyoung settles into his chair on-stage, and it’s the same beaten-up chair, the same small stage, the same shabby lights and the same microphone with peeled off paint covered by faded band stickers. But there are more people watching, and Jaehyun’s there, and even Taeyong is waiting for him to start singing even if he’s setting glasses of alcohol on fire. </p><p>Doyoung breathes in, then out, and greets an easy good evening into the mic. So the night begins.</p><p>Meanwhile, a new customer comes up to the bar, and Taeyong leaves Sicheng to deal with it as he runs to the bathroom.</p><p>“What can I get for you?” Sicheng asks, mindlessly wiping down a glass with a dry towel.</p><p>The voice clears his throat before speaking. “Iced tea, please.”</p><p>Sicheng stops.</p><p>“Iced tea?” He tries not to look too bewildered. “What kind of lunatic goes to a bar to order <em>iced tea?”</em></p><p>“The name’s Yuta,” he says shyly. “And I don’t take alcohol well.”</p><p>“Maybe don’t end up in a bar, then,” Sicheng mutters, pouring the dark brown liquid into a glass. “Iced tea for Yuta—from Sicheng.”</p><p>Yuta smiles. Does he know this man or is it just a coincidence?</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>
  <em>It matters not how strait the gate</em>
  <br/>
  <em>How charged with punishments the scroll,</em>
  <br/>
  <em>I am the master of my fate:</em>
  <br/>
  <em>I am the captain of my soul.</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>— <em>lnvictus,</em> William Ernest Henley</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>